The Lonely Skier (22 page)

‘But should we agree?' I asked him. ‘With your help we should be able to dispose of him.' I was thinking of the gun he had.

Keramikos shook his head. ‘No, no. He may be useful. We do not know how much he knows. We should come to terms first.'

‘But does he know where the gold is any more than we do?' Engles asked.

Keramikos shrugged. ‘Four heads are always better than one, my friend,' he replied non-commitally.

We went upstairs then. I was glad to get out of my cold clothes and change into something warm. Engles came into my room as soon as he was cleaned up. ‘How are you feeling, Neil?'

‘Not too bad,' I told him.

‘Better have some Elastoplast on that cut of yours,' he said. ‘I've got some in my haversack.'

He returned a moment later and put a strip of plaster on it. ‘There,' he said, patting my shoulder. ‘It's only a surface cut and a bit of bruising. Sorry it didn't come off, that break for freedom of yours. It was a good try.'

‘It was rather a futile effort,' I apologised.

‘Unnecessary, shall we say.' He grinned cheerfully. ‘Still you weren't to know that.'

‘You mean, you knew the gold wouldn't be in those boxes?' I asked.

‘Shall we say I had a shrewd suspicion.' He lit a cigarette and as he watched the flame of the match die out, he said, ‘The man we need to watch now is our friend Keramikos. He is a much more subtle character than Mayne. And he thinks that we know where the gold is.'

‘And—do we?' I asked.

He smiled then. ‘The less you know about it the better,' he replied good-humouredly. ‘Come down and have a drink. We're going to get plastered tonight. And see that you get as drunk as I do.'

It was a macabre sort of evening. Engles was at his wittiest, telling anecdote after anecdote of film stars he had known, directors he had got the better of, cocktail parties that had ended in rows. He worked like a street vendor to spread a veneer of cheerfulness over his audience. At first the audience was myself only. But then he brought Joe out of his Western and smoothed his ruffled feathers. And when Keramikos joined us, there was only Mayne left outside the little group by the bar.

That was what Engles had been playing for. Mayne went over to the piano and bull-dozed his way through a sonorous piece of Bach. It was a vicious piece of playing. The old piano cried aloud his mood of frustration and impotent anger.

And Engles talked through it until he had us all roaring with laughter. It was a forced gaiety in that it was produced intentionally by wit and cognac. But the laughter was real. And that was what eventually got Mayne. It took away his authority. It undermined his confidence. He wasn't sure of himself now that he had failed to find the gold. With a gun in his hand and everybody doing what they were told, he could still have bolstered up his self-esteem. But to be ignored! To see the rest of us in such apparently hilarious spirits. It was too much for him. He suddenly crashed his hands on to the keys and stood up. ‘Stop laughing!' he shouted.

‘Ignore him,' Engles whispered. And he went on talking. We began to laugh again.

‘Stop it, do you hear?'

Engles turned. He was swaying slightly. ‘S-shtop what, sir?' he asked blandly.

‘Go and sit down by the fire and stop that noise,' Mayne ordered.

‘What noise? Do you hear a noise, Neil?' He turned in a dignified manner to Mayne. ‘No noise here, old man. Must be the piano.'

I glanced at Mayne this time. He was white with anger. But he hesitated. He didn't know what line to take. ‘Engles!' he said. ‘Go and sit down.'

‘Oh, go to hell!' was all the reply he got.

His hand went to the pocket where his gun was. But he stopped. He stood there for a moment, looking at us and biting his lip. Then he sat down at the piano again.

Shortly after this Anna came in with the dinner things. Engles looked at the three of us. ‘Don't want any food, do we? I don't mind, eat if you want to. But I'm all for keeping straight on drinking. Or suppose we have it on the bar? Then those who want it can pick at it.' And he gave instructions to Anna to put the food on the bar.

That was the last straw. Mayne either had to get Anna to bring him his food separately or to come over and join us at the bar. He chose the latter course. And shortly after that, he drew Engles on one side. Keramikos was then called over to join them. The consultation lasted only a few minutes. Then the three of them shook hands. I heard Engles say, ‘I think you're being very sensible, Mayne.'

Mayne went behind the bar then and began to produce a special mixture of his own for us to try. As he stooped to get a bottle, Engles leaned towards me. ‘No shooting. Three-way split.' And his eyelid flickered with amusement.

‘What about Carla?' I whispered.

‘No provision made,' he replied.

Mayne straightened up and began to mix the drinks, using an empty bottle as a shaker. His ease of manner had partly returned. To see him standing there, smiling and talking and busying himself about our drinks, you would have thought him a charming host—possibly a wealthy play-boy, perhaps an actor, maybe even an artist, but never a ruthless, cold-blooded killer.

And why did we all drink so much at the bar that night? Each of us had a different reason. Engles set the pace—unobtrusively, of course, but nevertheless he set the pace. And he made it fast, because he wished to appear to be drunk and he wanted the others to be drunk. I drank because the liquor warmed me and I was keeping Engles company. Joe drank because everyone was friends again and that pleased him. He hated emotional conflicts. No doubt that was why he was a bachelor. Mayne drank because he wanted to catch up with the spirits of the party and to forget that moment at the piano. And Keramikos? I wasn't sure at the time why Keramikos drank.

Engles seemed to get drunk quicker than the others. By eleven o'clock he had had a row with Joe and staggered out of the bar in a blazing temper. Keramikos made a clumsy movement to take up his glass and knocked it on to the floor. He looked at it for a second in a fuddled way, took off his glasses and wiped his eyes and then walked stiffly to the door and went up to bed. The party was beginning to break up. I followed shortly afterwards, leaving Mayne and Joe, both very tight. When I got upstairs, I found Engles sitting on my bed. ‘I take it you're not as drunk as you appear to be?' he said.

‘I'm pleasantly happy,' I said. ‘But I could doubtless sober up if you could show me any good reason why I should.'

‘We're getting out of here,' he said.

‘When?' I asked.

‘Tonight,' he replied. ‘As soon as everybody has settled down.' I noticed then that he had got his ski boots on and his windbreaker and gloves were on the chair beside the bed. ‘Lock the door,' he said, ‘and come in and sit down.'

When I had done this, he began to give me instructions. He was concise and clear, just as he had always been when briefing us before an action. His manner was calm and he chose his words carefully, though he was speaking fast. How he managed to think so clearly after all the liquor he had drunk, I don't know. But then, as I have said, he took drink like most people take food. It seemed to feed his brain and stimulate his mind. For myself, I felt distinctly light-headed and I had to concentrate hard to follow and remember what he was saying.

‘Have you looked outside?' he asked me.

I told him, ‘No.'

‘Pull back that curtain, then, and have a look.'

I did this and was surprised to see that it had stopped snowing and the sky had cleared. The great banks of fresh snow that were piled up round the hut shone white in bright moonlight. But the wind still howled dismally and, wherever I looked, the powdery top layer of snow was moving in the way that fine sand shifts low across the desert before a sandstorm.

‘There's a good, deep drift of snow just below the window here,' he went on. ‘As soon as everybody has settled down for the night, I'm going to drop out of your window on to the belvedere. You probably didn't notice, but when we came up to the hut with those tools this evening, I dropped one of the picks into a drift. Mayne didn't notice either. I'm going to take that pick, go through under the supports of the hut and smash open the door to the cable machine-room. Unfortunately Keramikos' room is just above it. He'll hear me breaking in the door and he'll come after me then. I don't think I'll have time to smash the other skis. Keramikos has a gun. He told me that in the machine-room this afternoon and I don't want to get shot before I'm clear of this place.'

‘I know he's got a gun,' I said. ‘But he's too drunk to use it.'

Engles gave a short laugh. ‘Nonsense,' he said. ‘Keramikos is as sober as I am. And he knows that I can't do him any harm at the moment unless I get at those skis.'

‘You mean he was pretending to be drunk?' I asked. My brain was working very slowly.

Engles nodded. ‘That last drink I mixed—he didn't touch it. And I didn't give it to you or Joe. There was a Micky in it. He knew it as soon as he tasted it. Mayne was the only one who drank it. He'll sleep all right tonight.'

‘But I don't quite see why Keramikos should want to follow you,' I said.

‘My God! You're dull tonight, Neil,' said Engles sharply. ‘Keramikos is a Greek national. In Greece we couldn't touch him. But here in Italy it's different. Italy is still conquered territory. We still have our troops in Venezia Giulia. If I could get through to the Field Security Police there, he'd have a pretty nasty time getting out of the country. And he knows that I'm more interested in him than in the gold.'

He lit a cigarette. ‘Now then, this is what I want you to do, Neil,' he went on. ‘As soon as I have dropped through this window, I want you to open your door slightly and watch the corridor. When Keramikos comes out of his room, slip into Joe's room. Don't let Keramikos see you though. The window of Joe's room faces the
slittovia
. Lean out and lob something heavy, like the water jug, down by the doorway of the machine-room. I'll know then what margin of time I have. My tracks will be perfectly clear to him. I'll take the slalom run down to Tre Croci. I'll go straight across the pass on to the old Military Patrol route up to Tondi di Faloria. I'll take him through what our boys used to call the ‘Gun Barrel,' and so down to the
carabinieri
post at Cortina. As soon as Keramikos leaves on my trail, I want you to drop on to the belvedere, get your skis out and make for the hotel at Tre Croci. Get on the phone then to Trieste—Major Musgrave of the Field Security Police. Tell him you're speaking for me. He knows who I am. Tell him to send me as many men as he can from the nearest section by jeep. They're to meet me at the
carabinieri
post in Cortina. Tell him as much as is necessary to impress on him the urgency of the matter. Make it clear to him that there's a Nazi agent to be picked up. And they must come up by jeep. Tell him the snow is thick and they may not be able to get through in a larger vehicle.' He stopped then and looked at me closely. ‘Now, are those instructions quite clear, Neil?'

I nodded. ‘Perfectly clear,' I assured him. The thought of action had sobered me up.

But he wasn't satisfied. He had me repeat them over to him. When I had finished, he lay back on the bed and drew a blanket over himself. ‘Now sit there and listen for the others to come to bed,' he said. ‘Who's still down there—Joe and Mayne? Right. Wake me half an hour after the last of them has come to bed. And don't fall asleep.'

‘I won't,' I said.

‘One other thing,' he added as he settled himself. ‘If you can't get through to Trieste, try Udine or any town where we've got troops and persuade the garrison commander to take action. I don't want Keramikos to slip through our fingers. He did us a lot of damage in Greece and he's probably hand-in-glove with ELAS.'

‘Don't worry,' I said. ‘I'll get through to someone.'

‘Good!' he said. And within a few minutes he was asleep. He was like that—always able to sleep when he wanted to.

It must have been about half an hour later that Joe and Mayne came up together. They sounded talkative and drunk. Their footsteps stopped at the head of the stairs by Mayne's door. It was Mayne who was talking and the touch of Irish brogue in his speech was more pronounced than usual. At length they wished each other good-night. Mayne's door closed. Joe's footsteps wavered along the corridor. He went into his room and I heard him sit down on his bed with a grunt. He remained there for some time. At length he began to move about again. Then the springs of the bed creaked. He grunted for a moment as he settled himself and then began to snore. I glanced at my watch. It was just after midnight.

I got up then and, unlocking the door, opened it a fraction. The naked electric light bulb burned in the corridor. The stairs were a dark pit. All was very silent. I closed the door and sat down in my chair again. I began to feel sleepy. I kept on glancing at my watch. The minutes ticked by incredibly slowly.

But at last the half-hour was up and I woke Engles. He looked at his watch and was wide awake in the instant. ‘Thanks,' he said and put on his windbreaker and gloves. Then he opened the little casement window and, supporting himself on a chair, began to wriggle through, feet first. When all but his head and shoulders were through and he was supporting himself on his elbows he said, ‘Stick by the telephone at Tre Croci, will you, Neil. I'll ring you there as soon as I get into Cortina.'

‘I will,' I said. ‘Good luck!'

He nodded and dropped from sight.

I looked out of the window then and saw him sprawled in a drift of snow. He got to his feet and waded through the snow to one of the tables. He felt about in the snow and pulled out the pick he had dropped. He looked up then and raised his hand. His face looked white and set in the moonlight. He crossed the belvedere and disappeared from sight round the back of the hut.