Desmond Bagley - The Tightrope Men

They stopped at the mill entrance. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Carey. ‘Maybe that’s what’s needed.’

‘It is,’ said the policeman. He flicked a hand in farewell. ‘I hope you find your leak, comrade.’

‘Just a minute,’ said Carey. ‘I’ve just thought of something. The watchman might not let us in.’

The policeman grinned. ‘I’ll have a word with him; it’ll be all right.’

He walked into the mill and Carey winked at Armstrong. ‘Not bad chaps, these Russian coppers, when you get to know them — in spite of Boris Ivanevitch. Come on.’

‘Thanks for the testimonial,’ said Armstrong. ‘It’s just the thing I need to get a job around here. Why are we going in?’

‘You park the barrow near the temporary office in the corner. Then you go away and keep the watchman busy while I do a spot of burglary.’

‘You can’t burgle in front of a copper.’

‘He won’t stay around,’ said Carey. ‘He has his beat to cover.’

‘All right; you do your burglary — then what?’

Carey grinned. ‘Then we get ourselves booted out of Russia.’

Half an hour later, when they were walking up to the frontier post, Carey said, ‘It was the papers that bothered me. Leaving Russia is easy, but not with Merikken’s papers. Then I started talking to the copper about the mill and it gave me the idea. I’d seen those blueprints in that office this morning.’

Armstrong trundled the wheelbarrow. ‘I hope it works. There’s the frontier post.’

‘Remember you don’t know any Russian,’ said Carey. ‘It would be uncharacteristic in a Finn of your class.’

‘I don’t know any Finnish either,’ said Armstrong. ‘And that’s bloody uncharacteristic.’

‘Then keep your mouth shut,’ said Carey. ‘If you have to talk at all use Swedish; but don’t talk if you can help it. Leave the talking to me. And hope that none of these guards are studying engineering or mathematics.’

They bore down on the frontier post at a steady three miles an hour. Armstrong was still wearing working overalls but Carey had covered his uniform. He had stopped being a Russian and was now a Finn. The guard regarded them with mild surprise as they approached. ‘This is as far as you go,’ he said in Russian, and accompanied the statement with a smile.

Carey answered in fast Finnish. ‘Did the bus driver tell you we were coming? The fool left us behind. We’ve had to walk from the paper mill.’

The smile left the guard’s face as he heard the Finnish. ‘Where the devil have you come from?’ he asked in Russian.

‘I don’t speak Russian,’ said Carey. ‘Don’t you know Finnish?’

‘Sergeant!’ yelled the guard, passing the buck.

A sergeant came out of the guard house, leisurely fastening his belt. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘These two Finns popped up. They came from back there.’

‘Oh, they did, did they?’ The sergeant stepped over and inspected them critically, his eyes dwelling for a time on the barrow. In exceedingly bad Finnish he asked, ‘Where did you come from?’

‘The paper mill,’ said Carey, speaking slowly. ‘The bus driver left us behind.’ He indicated the barrow. ‘We had to collect these papers to take to the boss in Imatra. It took us a while to find them and when we came out the bus had gone.’

‘What are the papers?’

‘Machine drawings and calculations. See for yourself.’ Carey threw aside the sacking on top of the barrow and picked up the top document. He unfolded it to reveal a blueprint which he gave to the sergeant. ‘That’s one of the drawings.’

The sergeant studied the complexity of lines with uncomprehending eyes. ‘Why take them back to Imatra?’

‘For revision,’ said Carey. ‘It happens all the time. When you build a complicated machine it doesn’t always fit together right, usually because some fool of a draughtsman has made a mistake. So the drawings have to be amended.’

The sergeant raised his head and eyed Carey and then looked at the blueprint again. ‘How do I know this is what you say it is? I know nothing about paper machinery.’

‘In the bottom righthand corner there’s the name of our company and a description of the drawing. Can you read that much Finnish?’

The sergeant did not reply. He handed the blueprint back to Carey. ‘Are they all like this?’

‘Help yourself,’ said Carey generously.

The sergeant bent and rooted about in the wheelbarrow. When he straightened he was holding a hardbound exercise book. He opened it and glanced at a solid block of mathematical equations. ‘And this?’

‘I wouldn’t know until I saw it,’ said Carey. ‘It could be about the chemistry or it could be mechanical. Let me see.’ He leaned over to look at the page the sergeant was examining. ‘Ah, yes; those are the calculations for the roller speeds. This machine is very advanced — very technical. Do you know that the paper goes through at seventy kilometres an hour? You have to be very exact when you’re working at those speeds.’

The sergeant flicked through the pages and then dropped the book into the barrow. ‘What do you mean — chemical?’

Carey was enthusiastic. ‘Papermaking is as much a chemical process as mechanical. There’s the sulphite and the sulphate and the clay-all have to be worked out in exact formulae for the making of different kinds of paper. I’ll show you what I mean.’ He dug into the wheelbarrow and brought up a roll of papers. ‘These are the calculations for that kind of thing. Look; these are the equations for making tissue paper of cosmetic quality — and here — the calculations for ordinary newsprint.’

The sergeant waved away the papers from under his nose. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I have no authority to let you pass. I will have to consult my captain.’ He turned to go back into the guard house.

‘Perrrkele!’ swore Carey, giving the ‘r’ its full Finnish value. ‘You know damned well by the head count that thirty-six came in and only thirty-four went out.’

The sergeant halted in mid-stride. Slowly he turned and looked at the guard who shrugged helplessly. ‘Well?’ he asked acidly.

The guard was out of luck. ‘I haven’t put it in the book yet.’

‘How many went out tonight?’

‘Thirty-four, plus the driver.’

‘How many came in this morning?’

‘I don’t know. I wasn’t on duty this morning.’

‘You don’t know!’ The sergeant was apoplectic. ‘Then what’s the use of doing a head count?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Bring me the book,’ he said arctically.

The guard bobbed his head and went into the guard house at the double. He emerged in less than fifteen seconds and handed the sergeant a small record book. The sergeant turned the pages and then gave the guard a look that ought to have frozen the blood in his veins. ‘Thirty-six came in,’ he said softly. ‘And you didn’t know.’

The luckless guard had the sense to keep his mouth shut. The sergeant checked his watch. ‘When did the bus go through?’

‘About three-quarters of an hour ago.’

‘ About!’ the sergeant screamed. ‘You’re supposed to know to the second.’ He slapped the page. ‘You’re supposed to record it in here.’ He snapped his mouth shut into a straight line and the temperature fell. ‘For about three-quarters of an hour two foreign nationals have been wandering on the wrong side of the frontier without anyone knowing about it. Am I supposed to tell that to the captain?’ His voice was low.

The guard was silent. ‘Well, speak up!’ the sergeant yelled.

‘I... I don’t know,’ said the guard miserably.

‘You don’t know,’ repeated the sergeant in freezing tones. ‘Well, do you know this? Do you know what would happen to me—’ he slapped himself on the chest — ‘to me if I told him that? Within a week I’d be serving on the Chinese frontier — and so would you, you little turd, but that wouldn’t make me any happier.’