The Lucifer Network (39 page)

Another silence. Even Schenk's breathing had stopped.

‘Why do you think that?'

‘Oh, because I know he used to talk about me a lot . . . Even to strangers, sometimes.'

If there'd been a pin in that room Sam would have heard it drop.

‘I didn't meet your father, Julie.'

Sam's heart sank. Was that it? All over. End of story.

‘Didn't
you?
' Julie persisted.
‘That's
odd. I could
have
sworn I saw
you
with
him
earlier
that
evening.
'

Sam perked up again. She wasn't giving in easily.

‘Well,
you
were
wrong,
' Schenk told her with a little laugh.
‘What
is
this
game
you
play
with
me,
Julie
?
What
is
it
?
Mmm
?
What
do
you
want,
you
funny
little
girl?
'

More rustling against the microphone. Much more. Then a sharp intake of breath.

‘Hands off, Max. I do not want to go to bed with you.'

‘But I have answered your question.'

‘I don't know if you were telling the truth.'

Schenk exploded with rage.

‘Get
off!
' Julie squealed.

Sam whirled round, trying to use the receiver as a direction finder, but the level was almost constant wherever he pointed it.

‘You play some game this evening. What it is?'
Schenk repeated, gravel voiced.

Sam looked about wildly. Blank walls everywhere. She was only a few paces away yet he didn't know where.

‘Take
me
back
to
the
Marriott,
' Julie begged.
‘Please,
Max.
'

‘Oh no. I don't take you anywhere yet. We are not finished.
Perhaps you don't understand what we have been doing for the past year.'

‘What d'you mean?'

‘I think maybe you have never understood.'

‘I
want
to
go
back,
Max.
' Julie's voice was beginning to crack.
‘Please
let
go
of
me.
I'll
get a taxi.
'

‘We are not finished.'

‘Yes, Max. It's over. I love someone else . . .'

Schenk snorted in surprise. Then he chuckled.

‘Well then, I am happy for you. I too love someone else. But what you and I have done this year, it has never been love.'

‘That's true.'

‘And we didn't pretend so.'

‘No.'

‘Because it was just business, yes?'

‘Business?'

‘I give you airplane tickets, clothes, good food and wine, take you to beautiful places. And . . . in return, you give me what I want. It is simple, Julie. We have been like customer and supplier for each other.'

No response. Sam knew what was coming next.

‘And you still owe me for this time, my little Julie.'

‘Look,
Max,
I'll
pay
you
for
it.
' Her voice trembled.
‘The
flight,
the
dinner,
the
hotel.
I'll
write
you a cheque
. .
.
'

All of a sudden Malcolm emerged from the
Heurige,
shaking his head. ‘Not here,' he grunted.

Sam held up a hand to silence him. ‘They're in a bedroom,' he snapped. ‘Which of these places lets rooms?'

Malcolm peered round looking for
ZIMMER FREI
signs. ‘I'll ask inside.'

‘Be quick, for Christ's sake.'

Sam heard more rustling of clothing near the microphone, then Julie's voice, much more frightened than
before.
‘All
right,
Max.
Fine.
We'll
do
it.
But I have
to go to the bathroom first.'

‘No. First I undress you.'

‘I don't want you to.'

‘It doesn't matter what you want . . .'
His hiss tailed away suddenly. Then he grunted with surprise. The mike banged and grew muffled, as if fingers had closed over it.

‘
What
is
this?
'

‘Please, Max . . .'

Sam heard a slap, then a whimper of protest. There were sounds of the jacket being wrenched off.

‘Verdammt!'

Then silence. Total electronic death. Not even a hiss. The antenna or microphone ripped from its socket. Sam's throat was blocked by a huge lump. He'd promised to protect her.

He began walking, listening for raised voices from behind the windows closest to him. Seconds were ticking away. Soon they'd be minutes and Schenk was doing God knew what to her.

Suddenly there was a bang from the other side of the road. He shot a glance at the tavern opposite. Curtains moved in an upstairs window. A dark-haired head was being shoved back against the glass.

He ran, bursting in through the bottle-glass door. Ignoring the protests of the landlord, he saw some stairs and pounded up them. At the top was a pine-floored landing with a handful of doors. Thumps and muffled sobs came from behind one of them. He tried the handle. Locked, but it gave way to his shoulder.

Inside, it smelled of Schenk's vile cigar habit. Julie was cowering on the bed, her shirt half off, one small and vulnerable breast pulled free from the bra. Schenk was whipping her, her handbag bunched in his fist like
a lash. At the sound of Sam's entry he lurched round, face white with rage and fear. Then he flung the bag at Sam's head and barged towards the door.

Sam ducked low and went in with a tackle, but Schenk showed a surprising agility and twisted from his grip, hammering both fists down. Sam staggered from the blow to his head. By the time he could steady himself, Schenk was out of the room.

Sam grabbed Julie by the shoulders, mouthing apologies. Her face was red with slap marks, her lower lip split and bleeding. Eyes locked shut, her body shook with sobs. He pulled her shirt back on, then held her in his arms and hugged her.

And it had all been for nothing. The secret of Harry Jackman's damnable deal was as obscure as ever.

He heard feet on the stairs. The landlord appeared at the door.

‘N'ja. Was geht los hier?'

‘Can you walk?' Sam asked. Julie nodded. ‘Then let's get out of here.' He draped the torn blazer over her shoulders, then gathered up her bag and the pieces of bugging equipment that lay scattered on the floor.

Malcolm was at the foot of the stairs as he helped her down. ‘Schenk came crashing out of the place like a mad bull,' he announced breathlessly.

Behind them Sam heard the landlord remonstrating.

‘Got any money?'

‘Some,' Malcolm answered.

‘Give it to me so I can pacify mine host. Then get in that damned car and see where Schenk runs to.'

Malcolm thrust a wad of notes into Sam's hand, then left, jangling the car keys.

‘Sit down a sec, while I sort this out,' Sam whispered, helping Julie to a chair.

He apologised to the landlord in the best German
he could muster and counted out notes until the man was satisfied. Then he asked about taxis and was told there were usually a couple waiting fifty metres down the road.

He took Julie into the street, and found one. He helped her onto the back seat and slid in beside her, ordering the driver to take them to the Marriott.

‘Tell me you're all right,' he croaked, putting an arm round her shoulders.

But she told him nothing. Instead she stared blankly ahead, stunned by the fact that the world as she knew it had irrevocably changed.

‘I'm sorry,' said Sam, helplessly. His prime concern was to ensure she was okay, but at the same time he was desperate to know if she'd learned anything useful. ‘I heard Max say he hadn't met your father. You think he was telling the truth?'

She still didn't answer. He had the feeling she wasn't registering what he was saying.

She couldn't stay at the Marriott tonight, he realised. Not with Schenk running amok. He thought of ringing Collins to ask if he and his wife had a spare room they could let her use, but remembered the station chief's insistence on being kept out of play.

‘Look, it won't be safe for you at the Marriott tonight.' He shot her a glance. She blinked. The first indication that she was hearing him. ‘I'll find you some other hotel, okay? I'll ring round.' He began to think of the modalities, wishing he had a mobile with him. ‘Or there's the
pension
where I'm staying,' he suggested cautiously. ‘They may have a room free. If not you could use my bed. I'll sleep in a chair.' She blinked again. Then after a few moments' consideration nodded her assent.

Julie didn't look at him again during the rest of the time it took to drive back into central Vienna. Her
eyes were wide open but they weren't seeing anything. Nothing except the black misery of knowing at last how abjectly she'd been used.

‘Do you want to see a doctor?' Sam asked, suddenly fearing Schenk had done her some serious injury that he couldn't see.

She shook her head.

They turned onto the Ring. The Marriott loomed ahead.

‘Give me your key card and I'll get your things.'

She didn't respond at first, her mind in turmoil.

‘Julie? D'you have the key card?'

When at last she turned her puffy red face towards him, he flinched at the hurt he saw in her eyes.

‘Give me your key card and I'll collect your things from the room,' he repeated.

She pointed to the blazer he was holding.

‘In the pocket,' she whispered.

It took him a little over five minutes to pack her case and check with the front desk that the bill was being settled by Dr Max Schenk. Outside by the car again, the taxi driver took the suitcase from him and slipped it into the boot.

The Pension Kleist was unstaffed at night, which Sam was grateful for. Arriving with a bruised woman would have brought the police round. Inside the hotel, when they got into the small wood-panelled lift, Julie kept her eyes averted. Sam assumed she was blaming him for what had happened.

When they reached his room he asked her again about her readiness to make do with his bed. She nodded, then made straight for the bathroom. He heard a stifled sob as she saw for the first time what had happened to her face. When she emerged, her
hairline was wet from the water she'd splashed on her swollen cheeks.

‘This place doesn't run to minibars,' Sam apologised. He was in bad need of a drink and imagined she was too. He kicked himself for not raiding the fridge at the Marriott.

She ignored him, walking towards the bed. She slipped out of her shoes, then lay down on her side, pulling a pillow over her head.

Sam watched her shoulders begin to shake, telling himself it was good for her to cry. He sat on the edge of the bed, and put a hand on her arm, but withdrew it when she gave no sign of wanting it there. He got up, moved to the chair by the dressing table and flopped into it. It
had
been a good plan this evening, he told himself. The fact that it had gone wrong and produced nothing was bad luck. The same bad luck that had dogged his whole fucking life since the death of Harry Jackman.

Her handbag was on the end of the bed, together with the blazer she'd been wearing and the bits of equipment he'd retrieved from the tavern bedroom floor. To occupy himself, he began to reassemble the pieces. It wasn't long before he realised the back-up recorder was missing. He felt inside the jacket where it had been taped, running his fingers along the lining in case it had slipped. Eventually he found it and turned it over in his hands, examining it.

Julie seemed to be withdrawing further and further into herself. She had her knees tugged up and her arms wrapped round them. Sam was beginning to think she was making a meal of it. Turning a crisis into a drama.

Then, it dawned on him that her extreme distress could have been caused by something that had happened in the couple of minutes between Schenk ripping out the antenna and his bursting into the room. A couple
of minutes' conversation he hadn't heard. He peered at the credit-card-sized recorder, trying to work out how to play it back. It was Malcolm who was the expert on the gear, and Malcolm was chasing Schenk's car. Turning it over, he found a socket for a headset and a cluster of tiny control buttons. He plugged in the phones from the Walkman and put them on. Then, holding the device under the dressing table light, he began prodding at the controls with the point of a pen.

It began to play. The first part of the recording was disjointed, the in-built, voice-activated mike only cutting in when words spoken in the Audi rose well above the background noise. Two minutes from the start of the replay they were at Stammersdorf. Car doors slamming. Schenk's steel-tipped heels on the pavement. Stilted, awkward words spoken. A hard edge to Schenk's voice, nervousness in Julie's. There was the noise of them entering the tavern, Julie pointing out a nook where they could sit in private. Then Schenk telling her to follow him. More footsteps, clumping on wooden stairs. Julie saying she wanted to sit in the
Stube,
Schenk telling her the room upstairs was paid for and the champagne chilled.