Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

“Now, my friends, if you have all done, I suggest that we should treat this misfortune like sensible people. It would be madness for any of us to dash back to Kiev in this quixotic manner. An hour either way can make no difference now, and we are all badly in need or rest. Let us breakfast first, and think about saving Marie Lou afterwards.”

Without waiting for a reply he walked over to the farm gate and held it open.

“That certainly is sense.” Rex put the car in gear, and ran her through into the yard.

“Hullo! what’s that?” exclaimed Simon, as he got out stiffly. “Sounds like a ’plane.”

“It is.” De Richleau was gazing up into the sky. “Quick, Rex, run the car under that shed — it may be the frontier people looking for us.”

A moment later they saw her — a big grey air-liner, coming up from the direction of Mogeliev. With a dull booming of her powerful engines she sailed steadily over their heads, following the line of the frontier, the early morning sunlight glinting on her metalwork.

At the far end of the yard a tall, blond peasant had been harnessing a horse into one of the long, boat-shaped carts so common in the Ukraine. He left his work and walked slowly over to them; after De Richleau had spoken a few words to him he turned and led the way towards the house. The aeroplane had disappeared towards the west.

As the small procession trooped into the clean, bright kitchen a portly, apple-cheeked woman looked up with some apprehension, but the farmer quieted her fears, and soon she was busy preparing a hearty breakfast for her unexpected guests.

The Duke went out again with the man into the yard, and when he returned he pointed through the kitchen window, which looked out on the back. The farmhouse stood upon a slight rise, an orchard lay to the right, but before them spread a gently sloping meadow — beyond it fields, and in the valley, not more than a mile away, the edge of a dark forest.

“You see those tree-tops, my friends? Their roots are in Rumanian soil. At last it seems that we have reached our journey’s end.”

Simon let a little sigh escape him. It had been a terrible wrench to leave Valeria Petrovna, but over the border lay freedom — London... Paris... Deauville ... Monte Carlo. The old world capitalist cities, with their life and laughter — their restaurants, the Opera, the print shops, and the excitement of big business deals; everything that he had always loved.

Rex laughed. “My, won’t we throw some party — when we get over there!”

Only Richard turned away disconsolate — not even for a single moment could he cease wondering what had happened to little Marie Lou.

Over breakfast they discussed the situation. De Richleau argued that there was no undue reason for alarm. When Richard failed to put in an appearance she had in all probability gone back to the hotel.

“But just think of her,” Richard explained, “waiting for hours wondering what on earth had happened to us — thinking perhaps that the escape had failed and that we’d all been arrested!”

“Sure,” Rex agreed, “or, like as not, that we were a rotten bunch of pikers, who’d taken her help and quit while the goin’ was good.”

“Ner, she wouldn’t think that,” said Simon. “All I hope is that she hasn’t worried herself into doing something silly — anyhow, I’m going back to get her.”

“No!” Richard looked up quickly. “I am.”

“Well, in any case,” remarked the Duke, “it would be madness for more than one of us to run his head into the noose.”

Simon nodded. “That true — and this is my muddle, so I’m going.”

“My dear fellow,” De Richleau protested, “for you it is impossible. You forget your leg — you could never drive the car that distance.”

“Sure — that lets Simon out,” Rex declared, “and since I’m the fittest of you all I guess it’s my party.”

“No,” said the Duke, “it is highly probable that there is another electric fence on the actual frontier, like that which we found at Romanovsk — whoever goes, you must stay to help the others over.”

Richard looked round with tired eyes. “Please don’t let’s argue any more. The escape will have been discovered by this time, and all three of you are wanted by the police. I’m not — I’m in Russia with a proper passport — and what’s more, she’s my wife.”

His argument was incontrovertible, and ended the discussion. Breakfast was finished in thoughtful silence, then they strolled out into the meadow at the back of the farm to gaze upon the promised land.

The rhythmic throbbing of the big ’plane could be heard again, so they took cover in the orchard. This time it was beating back towards the east.

“She’s a bomber,” said Rex, gazing skywards through the branches.

“Um — I bet she’s carrying troops, though,” Simon laughed jerkily. “A couple of pilots wouldn’t be much good if they spotted us and landed!”

“When do we make the big get-away?” Rex inquired.

“Not till tonight,” said the Duke. “That innocent-looking wood has probably got sentries posted in it at every fifty yards if I know anything about friend Leshkin. We must lie low here today. I’ve had a talk with the farmer and I think he can be trusted — in any case I do not mean to let him out of my sight”

Richard laughed for the first time that morning. “If I make good going, and Marie Lou is still at the hotel, I could be back here in the ’plane before nightfall. I’m feeling much better now. I think I’ll make a start.”

“Before you do that, Richard, I would like a word with you.” De Richleau took him gently by the arm, and led him farther into the orchard.

“Listen,” he went on, when they were out of earshot of the others. “It is quite useless for you to try and take that car, Richard. You will not be able to move it from the shed.”

“Why?”

“Because, my friend, I removed the sparking-plugs before breakfast!”

“What the devil do you mean?”

“Simply that I will not allow any of you to venture your necks in this idiotic way.”

“Look here,” said Richard, angrily. “I’m quite as anxious to get over the frontier as anybody, but you might remember that none of you would be here at all, if it were not for Marie Lou!”

“Thank you.” The Duke’s voice had a trace of asperity. “If you were not so young, Richard, and I was not so fond of you, I should resent intensely your imputation on my honour. As it is I merely ask you not to be a fool.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“No, I am certain that you did not — but surely you have the sense to see that you would not get farther than Vinnitsa. The car would be recognized. There is a bullet through the mudguard, and another through the rear window. They would have you in prison before midday.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Richard agreed, reluctantly, “but I can’t leave Marie Lou in Kiev. God knows what will happen to her. I’ll tell you the truth — I’m in love with her, and I’m half crazy with anxiety!”

De Richleau patted him on the arm. “I understand, my friend. I have known love myself, but in this case you can do nothing. You must be a good fellow and cross the frontier with the others tonight.”

“No, I’m damned if I will.”

“Yes, Richard — I wish it. Hasten to Bucharest and get in touch with the British Consul at Kiev as soon as you can. She is a British subject now, and that will stand her in good stead if she is in trouble.”

“But that will take days. Anything may happen to her in the meantime. She must be frantic with anxiety.”

“Don’t worry, my son, I am going back to Kiev to look after her.”