Eric Ambler - Journey Into Fear

“I hope so.”

Moeller’s expression changed slightly. “Are you ready?”

“Quite.” He looked concerned. “I haven’t seen Kuvetli this morning. I hope everything is going to be all right.”

Moeller’s eyes did not flicker. “You need not worry, Mr. Graham.” Then he smiled tolerantly. “As I told you last night, you can safely leave everything to me. Kuvetli will not worry us. If necessary,” he went on blandly, “I shall use force.”

“I hope that won’t be necessary.”

“And so do I, Mr. Graham! So do I!” He lowered his voice confidentially. “But while we are on the subject of the use of force, may I suggest that you are not in too much of a hurry to land? You see, should you happen to land before Banat and I have time to explain the new situation to those who are waiting, an accident might happen. You are so obviously an Englishman. They would have no difficulty in identifying you.”

“I had already thought of that.”

“Splendid! I am so glad that you are entering into the spirit of the arrangements.” He turned his head. “Ah, we are alongside. I shall see you again in a few minutes, then.” His eyes narrowed. “You won’t make me feel that my confidence has been misplaced, will you, Mr. Graham?”

“I shall be there.”

“I am sure that I can count on you.”

Graham went into the deserted saloon. Through one of the port-holes he could see that a section of the deck had been roped off. The Mathis and the Beronellis had already joined Josette, José and Banat and, as he watched, Moeller came up with his “wife.” Josette was looking round as if she were expecting someone, and Graham guessed that his absence was puzzling her. It was going to be difficult to avoid an encounter with her. She might even wait for him in the Customs shed. He would have to forestall that.

He waited until the gangway had been hoisted into position and the passengers, headed by the Mathis, were beginning to troop down it, then went out and brought up the rear of the procession immediately behind Josette. She half turned her head and saw him.

“Ah! I have been wondering where you were. What have you been doing?”

“Packing.”

“So long! But you are here now. I thought that perhaps we could drive together and leave our luggage in the consigne at the station. It will save a taxi.”

“I’m afraid I shall keep you waiting. I have some things to declare. Besides, I must go to the Consulate first. I think that we had better keep to our arrangement to meet at the train.”

She sighed. “You are so difficult. Very well, we will meet at the train. But do not be late.”

“I won’t.”

“And be careful of the little salop with the perfume.”

“The police will take care of him.”

They had reached the passport control at the entrance to the Customs shed and José, who had walked on ahead, was waiting as if the seconds were costing him money. She pressed Graham’s hand hurriedly. “Alors, chéri! A tout à l’heure.”

Graham got his passport and slowly followed them through to the Customs shed. There was only one Customs officer. As Graham approached he disposed of Josette and José, and turned to the Beronelli’s mountainous bundles. To his relief, Graham had to wait. While he was waiting he opened his case and transferred some papers that he needed to his pocket; but several more minutes passed before he was able to show his transit visa , have his suit-case chalked and give it to a porter. By the time he had made his way through the group of mourning relatives which had surrounded the Beronellis, Josette and José had gone.

Then he saw Moeller and Banat.

They were standing beside a big American sedan drawn up beyond the taxis. There were two other men on the far side of the car: one was tall and thin and wore a mackintosh and a workman’s cap, the other was a very dark heavy-jowled man with a grey belted ulster and a soft hat which he wore without a dent in it. A fifth and younger man sat at the wheel of the car.

His heart thumping, Graham beckoned to the porter, who was making for the taxis, and walked towards them.

Moeller nodded as he came up. “Good! Your luggage? Ah, yes.” He nodded to the tall man, who came round, took the case from the porter, and put it in the luggage boot at the back.

Graham tipped the porter and got in the car. Moeller followed him and sat beside him. The tall man got in beside the driver. Banat and the man in the ulster sat on the pull-down seats facing Graham and Moeller. Banat’s face was expressionless. The man in the ulster avoided Graham’s eyes and looked out of the window.

The car started. Almost immediately, Banat took out his pistol and snapped the safety catch.

Graham turned to Moeller. “Is that necessary?” he demanded. “I’m not going to escape.”

Moeller shrugged. “As you please.” He said something to Banat who grinned, snapped the safety catch again and put the gun back in his pocket.

The car swung into the cobbled road leading to the dock gates.

“Which hotel are we going to?” Graham inquired.

Moeller turned his head slightly. “I have not yet made up my mind. We can leave that question until later. We shall drive out to Santa Margherita first.”

“But …”

“There are not ‘buts.’ I am making the arrangements.” He did not bother to turn his head this time.

“What about Kuvetli?”

“He left by the pilot boat early this morning.”

“Then what’s happened to him?”

“He is probably writing a report to Colonel Haki. I advise you to forget about him.”

Graham was silent. He had asked about Mr. Kuvetli with the sole object of concealing the fact that he was badly frightened. He had been in the car less than two minutes, and already the odds against him had lengthened considerably.

The car bumped over the cobbles to the dock gates, and Graham braced himself for the sharp right turn that would take them towards the town and the Santa Margherita road. The next moment he lurched sideways in his seat as the car swerved to the left. Banat whipped out his gun.

Graham slowly regained his position. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought we turned right for Santa Margherita.”

There was no reply. He sat back in his corner trying to keep his face expressionless. He had assumed quite unwarrantably that it would be through Genoa itself, and on to the Santa Margherita road that he would be taken for his “ride.” All his hopes had been based on the assumption. He had taken too much for granted.

He glanced at Moeller. The German agent was sitting back with his eyes closed: an old man whose work for the day was done. The rest of the day was Banat’s. Graham knew that the small deep-set eyes were feeling for his, and that the long-suffering mouth was grinning. Banat was going to enjoy his work. The other man was still looking out of the window. He had not uttered a sound.

They reached a fork and turned to the right along a secondary road with a direction sign for Novi-Torimo. They were going north. The road was straight and lined with dusty plane trees. Beyond the trees there were rows of grim-looking houses and a factory or two. Soon, however, the road began to rise and twist, and the houses and factories were left behind. They were getting into the country.

Graham knew that unless some wholly unexpected way of escape presented itself, his chances of surviving the next hour were now practically non-existent. Presently the car would stop. Then he would be taken out and shot as methodically and efficiently as if he had been condemned by a court martial. The blood was thundering in his head, and his breathing was quick and shallow. He tried to breathe slowly and deeply, but the muscles in his chest seemed incapable of making the effort. He went on trying. He knew that if he surrendered himself to fear now, if he let himself go, he would be lost, whatever happened. He must not be frightened. Death, he told himself, would not be so bad. A moment of astonishment, and it would be over. He had to die sooner or later, and a bullet through the base of the skull now would be better than months of illness when he was old. Forty years was not a bad lifetime to have lived. There were many young men in Europe at that moment who would regard the attainment of such an age as an enviable achievement. To suppose that the lopping off of thirty years or so from a normal span of life was a disaster was to pretend to an importance which no man possessed. Living wasn’t even so very pleasant. Mostly it was a matter of getting from the cradle to the grave with the least possible discomfort; of satisfying the body’s needs, and of slowing down the process of its decay. Why make such a fuss about abandoning so dreary a business? Why, indeed! And yet you did make a fuss …