Colin Forbes - The Leader And The Damned

'You know me – Paco,' she said in a firm, confident voice. 'I am expecting two men…'

'What kept you?'

Bora appeared out of nowhere halfway down a rickety staircase. Behind him, smiling warmly, stood Milic. Bora ran lightly down the rest of the steps, making no sound. He paused at the bottom to stare hard at Lindsay. The Englishman had had enough of the arrogant Serb and stared back. Bora turned to Paco.

'There has been some trouble in the area recently…'

'Stop rattling your guts in public!' It was the old boy behind the makeshift reception counter who growled out the words. From his manner he had as little liking for Bora as had Lindsay. He turned to Paco, ignoring the Serb.

'The police have already been. They looked at the register. They went away. They won't be back. They're looking for a killer.'

'A killer?' Paco queried softly.

'Two youths in civvies – they're probably army deserters. They attacked two soldiers and robbed them blind. Attacked them with lengths of iron piping. One soldier killed, the other in hospital. They got good descriptions from the one who survived. It's stirred things up round here, I can tell you.'

'Where are the suitcases I left?' Paco interrupted brusquely.

'Room 17. Your friends have already collected one. I've put them in Room 20. You two will be sharing…?'

The question drifted off into space as the receptionist looked over Paco's shoulder at Lindsay who remained silent. Nothing lecherous in the old man's expression – just a straightforward enquiry.

'We'll be sharing,' said Paco.

'Money in advance…'

'I know! This payment includes warning in time for us to escape if the police return. And that front door is still open..

'It won't be!' Lifting a flap in the counter, the receptionist trudged to the entrance, inserted a large key in the lock, turned it and began shutting bolts. Lindsay counted four. The old man peered up at him and winked. 'Take a cannon to blow this door in. That's solid yew…'

Paco counted out a large pile of banknotes. Picking up the key, she gestured for Lindsay to follow her. Bora and Milk preceded her up the stairs. She waited until they were alone at the end of a long corridor before speaking.

'Bora, we're catching the 4.30 am train from the Sudbahnhof to Graz – so get what sleep you can. No problems on the way here?'

'Our cab broke down – his scrap metal engine exploded. We walked two miles. This murdered soldier worries me. By morning the area could be swarming with Gestapo…'

'So, we're catching the earliest train we can. Go to bed, Bora.'

'Lindsay followed Paco along the narrow, bare- boarded corridor to Room 17. It was larger inside than he'd expected – dim light filtered through the un-curtained window. He went across and looked out. The view was restricted – a blank wall opposite, a thread of an alley below. He closed the curtains carefully and Paco switched on the light, a naked bulb the equivalent of forty watts.

Paco sank on to the edge of the large bed. 'Thanks for keeping quiet about those two thugs we met – they must be the men who killed that soldier. The receptionist would have been alarmed. And Bora would have had a fit..

'You gave that receptionist enough money. I was amazed. We can trust him?'

'The price of secrecy. We can trust our money. Funny, isn't it, for that amount we could have stayed at the Sacher.

'Why didn't we? This place is quite a dump.'

'Lindsay, you've stopped learning again. If by any quirk of fate they've traced us to Vienna they'll check the top hotels first – the places where the Baroness Werther would stay at. To say nothing of the problem of registration. And here we're a stone's throw from the Sudbahnhof. I'm dog-tired – get me the suitcase out of that big wardrobe…'

The furnishings were simple – primitive might have been a better word. A large wardrobe with a door which didn't close properly, a cracked mirror. The large bed with varnish peeling off the headboard. A cracked wash-basin which exuded a peculiar aroma if you stood too close. He placed the case on the bed and sat at the top with the case between them.

'We're peasants from now on,' she said. 'We change into our new clothes before we sleep – then if we have to leave quickly by the fire-escape we're dressed. It's at the end of the corridor…'

Dropping from fatigue, Lindsay changed into the outfit Paco had chosen for him – a thick shirt with a worn collar, a pair of green corduroy trousers which had been repaired many times and a heavy, shabby jacket.

Paco was quicker and by the time he had changed she was in bed under the down quilt and fast asleep. Wearily he climbed in the other side, careful not to disturb her and lay down. Closing his eyes, he slipped into blessed oblivion.

It was 3 am. At SS headquarters in Vienna all the men seated round the table could hardly keep their eyes open except for one. Gustav Hartmann seemed tireless and capable of going on for ever without sleep.

Gruber was holding forth. By his side sat his new colleague, Willy Maisel, a thin-faced man of thirty with a thatch of dark hair who had a considerable reputation for shrewdness.

'This Englishman and the subversives have now killed a German soldier near the Sudbahnhof!' He was working himself up into an excited state. 'This is the second time they have murdered..

'Oh, for God's sake, interrupted Colonel Jaeger, 'don't get so bloody theatrical. Certainly not at this hour.'

By his side Schmidt lifted his eyes to heaven and flung a pencil down on the table. In the brief silence the noise was like a pistol shot.

'The evidence points in another- direction,' ventured Willy Maisel. 'We have precise descriptions of the two assailants, both youths who sound to me like deserters. Nothing at all to do with Wing Commander Lindsay and his friends.'

'Thank you for your support,' Gruber said nastily. 'At least I have taken some positive action, which is more than anyone else could claim, I suspect…'

'Oh, what action is that?' Hartmann enquired jovially.

'Gestapo agents and their network of paid informants are at this moment checking all the top hotels in the city. This pseudo-Baroness likes to live well, the murdering bitch…'

'Good for you,' Hartmann replied with a straight face. 'I'm sure tying up your forces on that mission will prove highly profitable.'

'I'm declaring this meeting closed.' Jaeger stood up and shoved his chair back against the wall with a hard kick of his boot. 'I want some sleep. We'll start again in the morning…'

Schmidt strolled over to Hartmann, glancing back at the table to where Gruber and Maisel still sat with their heads together. The SS officer waited until they were in the corridor before he asked his question.

'Do you think Gruber knows what he is talking about – this obsession with the Sudbahnhof?'

'Maisel is the clever one,' Hartmann replied cryptically. 'He supplies the brains, Gruber the brute force.

A perfectly balanced Gestapo team. They should go far!'

'Which means you're evading my question,' Schmidt remarked without malice as they continued along the corridor.

'The Sudbahnhof is a working-class area – one of the really poor districts. Good night…'

Schmidt watched the Abwehr man disappearing down a flight of steps. He suspected Hartmann had been giving him a clue – but he was too exhausted to work it out.

'Wake up, Lindsay, you lazy slug. You've had hours of sleep!'

Lindsay's head was full of cotton-wool. He opened his eyes as Paco shook his shoulder again. He felt he had just gone to sleep. Would it never stop – this pushing on and on and on? Christ, he wished they'd been able to make Switzerland.

'What time is it?' he asked as he sat up and forced his legs out of bed.