Alistair MacLean - Circus

“Sir?”

“Mind your back is what I mean. Those papers you’ve just stuck — securely, I trust — in your inside pocket. You are aware, of course, what will happen if you are caught with those in your possession?”

Harper sighed. “I am aware. I’ll have my throat cut and end up, suitably weighted, in some canal or river. Doubtless you can always find a replacement.”

“Doubtless. But the way things are going I’m going to be running out of replacements quite soon, so I’d rather not be put to the trouble. You are quite sure you have the times of transmission and the code totally memorized?”

Harper said gloomily: “You don’t have much faith in your subordinates, sir.”

“The way things have been going recently, I don’t have much faith in myself, either.”

Harper touched the bottom of his medical bag. “This postage stamp transceiver. You sure you can pick me up?” “We’re using NASA equipment. We could pick you up on the moon.”

“I somehow wish I was going there.”

Some six hours after departure the circus train drew into a shunting yard. Arc lamps apart, the darkness was total and the rain very heavy. There, after an interminable period of advancing, reversing, bumping, clanking and screeching of wheels on points — the combination of all of which effectively succeeded in waking up everyone aboard — a considerable number of preselected coaches were detached, subsequently to be hauled south to their winter quarters in Florida. The main body of the train continued on its way to New York.

Nothing untoward had happened en route. Bruno, who invariably cooked for himself, had not left his quarters once. He had been visited twice by his brothers, once by Wrinfield and once by Harper but by no one else: known to everybody as a loner, he was invariably treated as such.

Not until the train had arrived on the quay alongside the container-passenger ship that was to take them to Genoa — selected not so much for its strategical geographical position as the fact that it was one of the few Mediterranean ports with the facilities to off-load the crane-breaking coaches and flat cars — did Bruno leave his quarters. It was still raining. One of the first persons he encountered was Maria. She was dressed in navy slacks, a voluminous yellow oilskin, and looked thoroughly miserable. She gave him the nearest she would ever be able to come to a scowl and came to the point with what he had now come to regard as her customary straightforwardness. “Not very sociable, are you?”

“I’m sorry. But you did know where I was.” “I had nothing to tell you.” Then, inconsequentially: “You knew where I was.”

“I find telephone boxes cramping.”

“You could have invited me. While I know we’re supposed to be striking up some special relationship I don’t go openly chasing after men.”

“You don’t have to.” He smiled to rob the next words of offence. “Or do you prefer to do it discreetly?” “Very amusing. Very clever. You have no shame?”

“For what?”

“Your shameful neglect.”

“Lots.”

“Then take me to dinner tonight.”

“Telepathy, Maria. Sheer telepathy.”

She gave him a look of disbelief and left to change. They switched taxis three times on the way to the pleasant Italian restaurant Maria had chosen. When they were seated Bruno said: “Was all that necessary? The taxis, I mean?” “I don’t know. I follow orders.”

“Why are we here? You miss me so much?”

“I have instructions for you.”

“Not my dark eyes?” She smiled and shook her head and he sighed. “You can’t win them all. What instructions?” “I suppose you’re going to say that I could easily have whispered them to you in some dark corner on the quayside?” “A prospect not without its attractions. But not tonight.”

“Why?”

“It’s raining.”

“What is it like to be a romantic at heart?” “And I like it here. Very pleasant restaurant.” He looked at her consideringly, at the blue velvet dress, the fur cape that was far too expensive for a secretary, the sheen of rain on her shining dark hair. “Besides, in the dark I wouldn’t be able to see you. Here I can. You’re really very beautiful. What instructions?”

“What?” She was momentarily flustered, unbalanced by the sudden switch, then compressed her lips in mock ferociousness. “We sail at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. Please be in your cabin at six o’clock in the evening. At that hour the purser will arrive to discuss seating arrangements, or some such, with you. He’s a genuine purser but he’s also something else. He will make absolutely certain that there are no listening devices in your cabin.” Bruno remained silent. “I notice you’re not talking about melodrama this time.”

Bruno said with some weariness: “Because it hardly seems worth talking about. Why on earth should anyone plant bugs in my cabin? I’m not under any suspicion. But I will be if you and Harper keep on behaving in this idiotic cloak-and-dagger fashion. Why the bugging of Wrinfield’s office? Why were two men sent to look for bugs in my place aboard the train? Why this character now? Too many people seeing that I’m debugged, too many people knowing that I can’t possibly be all that I claim to be or that the circus claims that I am. Too many people having their attention called to me. I don’t like it one little bit.”

“Please. There’s no need to be like that —”

“Isn’t there? Your opinion. And don’t be soothing to me.” “Look, Bruno, I’m just a messenger. Directly, there’s no reason on earth why you should be under suspicion. But we are — or we’re going to be up against an extremely efficient and suspicious secret police, who certainly won’t overlook the slightest possibility. After all, the information we want is in Crau. We’re going to Crau. You were born in Crau. And they will know that you have the strongest possible motivation — revenge. They killed your wife —” “Be quiet!” Maria recoiled, appalled by the quiet ferocity in his voice. “Nobody has spoken of her to me in six and a half years. Mention my dead wife again and I’ll pull out, wreck the whole operation and leave you to explain to your precious chief why it was your gaucherie, your ill manners, your total lack of feeling, your incredible insensitivity that ruined everything. You understand?”

“I understand.” She was very pale, shocked almost, tried to understand the enormity of her blunder and failed. She ran a slow tongue across her lips. “I’m sorry, I’m terribly sorry. That was a very bad mistake.” She still wasn’t sure what the mistake was about. “But never again, I promise.”

He said nothing.

“Dr Harper says please be outside your cabin at 6.30 p.m., sitting on the floor — sorry, deck — at the foot of the companionway. You have fallen down and damaged your ankle. You will be found and helped to your cabin. Dr Harper will, of course, be there almost immediately. He wishes to give you a full briefing on the nature of the operation.”

“Has he told you?” There was still a singular lack of warmth in Bruno’s voice.

“He told me nothing. If I know Dr Harper he’ll probably tell you to tell me nothing either.”

“I will do what you ask. Now that you’ve completed your business, we may as well get back. Three taxis for you, of course, rules are rules. I’ll take one straight back to the ship. It’s quicker and cheaper and the hell with the CIA.”

She reached out a tentative hand and touched his arm. “I have apologized. Sincerely. How long must I keep on doing it?” When he made no answer she smiled at him and the smile was as her hand had been, tentative and uncertain. “You’d think a person who earns as much money as you do could afford to buy a meal for a working girl like myself. Or do we go Dutch? Please don’t leave. I don’t want to go back. Not yet.”