The Copenhagen Connection Part 15

"She didn't want to shoot me, stupid. n.o.body wants to shoot me. At least," Christian added, less confidently, "up till now n.o.body has wanted to shoot me. They want Margaret. I figured the worst Blondie could do was. .h.i.t me on the head; and I'm getting sort of used to that. She didn't even go that far. I had picked a deserted street with no houses around, only factories and shops that were closed for the night. She made me get out of the car, and took off. I knew she wouldn't go back to the hotel, not with me on the loose, and I hoped she would head for the place where her confederates were holed up. If you weren't there, one of them would know where you were."

"But if she took the car, how did you-" "Ah. That is where the real brilliance of the plan comes in. Earlier in the day I had rented a second car and had driven it to the spot I had selected. I waited till she turned the corner, hopped into my trusty rented Fiat, and roared off in pursuit."

He c.o.c.ked an eye at her, expecting praise. Elizabeth didn't trust herself to speak for a while. Finally she said in a voice choked with emotion, "You deliberately followed her to the gang's hideout, knowing you would be caught, just to find me?"

"Well," Christian said reluctantly, "getting caught wasn't exactly ... It was a last resort, you might say."

"That is the most idiotic plan I ever heard of! I don't suppose you had the sense to tell Grundtvig what you were up to?"

Christian sat up, glaring. "If that's the thanks I get-" "Thanks for what? Now they've got both of us." A gloomy silence descended. Elizabeth was regretting her harsh words but didn't know how to apologize. Christian was unable to counter the logic of her complaint.

"Do you have any idea where we are?" Elizabeth asked finally.

"Of course I know. I drove here, didn't I?" "Oh, you mean you got all the way to your destination before they grabbed you?"

"I don't know why I should tell you anything. All you do is b.i.t.c.h and make sarcastic remarks."

"I'm sorry. Really. I guess I'm not in a very good mood right now."

Christian's face relaxed into the smile that was his most engaging feature-rueful, youthful, apologetic. "You have reason to be depressed. I'm the one who should apologize. I goofed. But all is not lost. I even antic.i.p.ated this."

"Tell me all about it, you wonderful person."

"If you insist." Christian stretched out again. "Well, I followed the wench and my car onto the highway going west-the same one we took to Roskilde. The first part was a piece of cake; there was enough traffic to make me un.o.btrusive. The trouble began when she pa.s.sed Roskilde and turned off onto a side road. After a while her car and mine were the only ones in sight. I didn't dare get too far back for fear of losing her. Finally she turned off onto a private road, hardly more than a lane, and I went roaring past with what I hoped was a convincing imitation of a homeward-bound farmer. It was still daylight. This d.a.m.ned late twilight makes criminal activities difficult.

"I went on for about a mile, just to play safe, left the car by the road, and came back. It was a superb performance, if I do say so. I used every trick I could remember out of Fenimore Cooper and the Hardy Boys. I got scratched crawling under brambles and soaked my feet crossing a stream or two. It was beginning to get dark when I sneaked up the lane and found myself in a farmyard."

"So it is a farm. I deduced that."

"I won't ask how, because this is my turn to show off," Christian said firmly. "I hid in a shed until it was fully dark. Then I investigated the house. It's a small place, only four rooms downstairs and an attic above. I suppose that's where we are now, in the attic.

"There was a light in one room, which proved to be the kitchen. The curtains were drawn and I could only see a small part of the room-a sink and one corner of a table. But the window was open. I heard everything.

"I recognized Schmidt's voice and knew I had hit pay dirt. He was yelling at the blonde. Somewhat to my surprise the basis of his complaint seemed to be her refusal to cook."

Elizabeth laughed. "If you knew what the food has been like, you'd understand. Go on."

"She said she hadn't hired out as a domestic. Every now and then I'd hear a kind of rumbling noise-a third person talking in Danish, expostulating with both of them and trying to calm them down. When he said something, the other two both yelled at him to shut up."

"The role of the peacemaker," Elizabeth murmured.

"It was the d.a.m.nedest conversation for a pack of crooks," Christian said. "And the most frustrating. I didn't want to hear about their domestic problems, I wanted to find out whether you were in the house. Finally Schmidt got down to cases. 'Now I've got to telephone,' he said. 'He isn't going to like this, Cheryl.' She said tough, or words to that effect, and added that she was no longer needed at the hotel anyway.

"I was getting very interested in the conversation. That was one of my mistakes. Also, I was squatting; the window is low to the ground, and I didn't want to take a chance on being seen. My legs got cramped. When the light caught me I didn't move fast enough."

"Car lights?"

"It was a bicycle, actually. That's why I didn't hear it coming. But it had a very powerful headlight. When the rider saw me, he let out a yell. Everybody came boiling out of the house and away we went, me staggering with cramps and the rest of them spry as distance runners. I'd have gotten away, though, if the d.a.m.ned dog hadn't started to bark. I had concluded there was no dog. It was one of the first things I looked for when I made my preliminary reconnaissance, and I was a little surprised not to see one. They had it shut up in a shed on the other side of the house. They had lost sight of me in the darkness by the time I got to the shed; but the dog heard me and cut loose. They grabbed me when I tried to climb the fence. The little guy hit me; and that was it."

"So," Elizabeth said. "Here we are."

"Here we are."

"Schmidt seemed annoyed at your turning up."

"It does complicate matters for them. They've no way of letting Margaret know I've been caught, and no way of receiving communications from her."

"They could leave a message for her at the hotel. She may come back when she learns I've been kidnapped."

"I refuse to solve their problems for them," Christian said drowsily. "Let them worry about it."

"Are you going to sleep?" Elizabeth rose on one elbow and peered into his face. He blinked and swallowed a yawn.

"I had better not. We have work to do."

"There's no way out of here," Elizabeth said despondently. "Unless you happened to bring a gun and a screwdriver and an ax."

"It just so happens . . ." He sat up and searched his pockets. "No, the gun is gone. I figured they would find that."

"You had a gun?" Elizabeth exclaimed. "How did you-"

"With great difficulty. This is a law-abiding country. I meant it as a decoy, actually. Thought it might distract them from a thorough search. Voild!" He pulled up his pants leg. Strapped to his calf was an empty scabbard.

Christian's face fell. "d.a.m.n. I hoped they would miss the knife."

"Not with Schmidt holding you by the feet."

"Oh, well." Christian took off his jacket and unb.u.t.toned his shirt. Rows of adhesive tape had been lavishly applied to his chest and stomach, which bulged with oddly shaped lumps. Christian began removing the tape, wincing with each tug. "Next time I'll use more gauze and less tape," he muttered.

From under the tape came a pocket knife, a strange-looking instrument with a hook on one end and a point on the other, a tiny flashlight, and a ball-point pen. Christian stared blankly at the last. "I wonder how that got in there."

"Maybe you were a little upset," Elizabeth suggested gently.

"Maybe."

"What's that?" She indicated the hooked instrument.

"A picklock."

"Do you know how to use it?"

"I understand the general principle. But we'll try the screwdriver first. The window is our best bet. I know what's out there, and I have no idea what we can expect to encounter beyond the door."

"Schmidt, Eric, the blonde, the hit man-"

"As I said, the window is our best bet."

The pocket knife was one of the elaborate Swiss types with every possible amenity, including a corkscrew and an ivory toothpick.

"You never know when you'll need one of those," Elizabeth remarked.

Christian tossed the toothpick aside. "The screwdriver might be more useful in this case."

It was, of course, totally inadequate for the job at hand, but he managed to loosen two of the screws before it broke.

"Why didn't I bring a regulation size?" Christian muttered.

"You didn't know you would need one. You selected an all-purpose tool; I think that was very clever."

Christian grunted. He pulled out the shortest and stoutest of the knife blades and went on with his work. It was not the most convenient of tools for the purpose. His hands were bleeding from a dozen small cuts before he loosened the third screw. At Elizabeth's insistence he finally relinquished the knife to her; but only, he told her, because the blood made his fingers slippery.

When the first of the planks came away, Elizabeth let out a soft cry of pleasure. Natural light and cool fresh air. . . . She had not realized how stale the air in the room was until she inhaled the real thing. Dawn was breaking over the hills. Her face pressed to the eight-inch gap, she breathed deeply.

Christian's reaction was more practical. "d.a.m.n. I'd forgotten how early the sun rises. If I hadn't wasted time bragging about how smart I am-"

"It wouldn't have mattered. At the rate we're going, it will take three or four more hours to get a second board off."

Christian was not consoled. He sank down onto his haunches, head bowed and arms limp. "We daren't risk it in daylight. Another day in this rat trap . . ."

"Why don't you get some sleep?" Elizabeth conquered the impulse to fondle his tumbled hair. "You must be exhausted."

"Might as well." He hoisted himself laboriously to his feet. "First let's replace the board. What's the schedule, or is there one?"

"They've been in here twice-except for bringing you, which was obviously a change in routine." She held the board while he tightened the screws. "I was fed both times. Lunch and dinner, presumably."

"That's encouraging. It suggests some concern for your survival." A giant yawn ended the sentence.

"Lie down," Elizabeth ordered. "You don't want them to suspect you have been awake all night. They might wonder what you were doing. If they examine the screws closely-"

"Right, right. Wait a minute."

"What is it now?"

"Tools. Get them out of sight." He gathered his pitiful little collection, together with the discarded tape, and looked around the empty room.

"Under the bed. There's no place else."

"Only too true." Christian got down and poked his head under the blanket, which hung down all the way to the floor. He sneezed. "Good. There hasn't been a mop under here for weeks."

When he pulled himself out, his hair was gray with dust. He lay still for a moment, face slack with weariness. Then he looked up at Elizabeth and remarked, "I'd offer to sleep on the couch if there was a couch."

"This is no time to be funny."

They stretched out on the bed side by side. After a while Elizabeth said, "Christian?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why is Margaret's hair green?"

"She keeps trying different hair dyes," Christian mumbled. "Last year it was purple."

"Oh. Christian? About Margaret's bathrobe-"

This time the only reply was a soft snore.

Elizabeth raised herself on one elbow and looked down at him. His mouth had relaxed, and his dusty hair and general air of dishevelment were more becoming than otherwise. She wondered if he would wake up if she kissed him. Better not risk it. He must care about her, or he wouldn't have gone to such desperate and absurd lengths to find her. Then why the devil didn't he say so? He couldn't be that insecure. Young, successful, good-looking-he must have had all the women he wanted. Maybe he didn't care. Maybe he had been driven by Duty instead of Love.

She lay down. Christian's snores increased in volume and frequency, but they did not prevent her from falling asleep, her body pressed close to his.

Her subconscious sentry was now alert to the sound of the key in the lock. She sat up with a start. Christian slept on, looking so tired and vulnerable that she was reluctant to awaken him. But she knew he would hate being roused by Schmidt's jeers, and anyway it was only a matter of seconds. She shook him. "Christian, they're coming."

He woke up instantly, awareness darkening his eyes. There was only time for an exchange of glances before the door opened.

"Sleep well?" Schmidt inquired, watching Christian try to suppress a yawn. "Or did you sleep? The more fool you if you did."

He burst into raucous laughter, delighted at his own wit. "Come on, honey. You first."

When Elizabeth returned from the bathroom, Christian was led out. Schmidt paid him the compliment of following with gun in hand, which he had not bothered to do for Elizabeth. She had hoped they would divide their strength, one guard to each prisoner, but such was not the case. Schmidt locked the door on Christian while she was out of the room and repeated the process the second time.

When Christian returned, Eric trailed him with a tray. Elizabeth sniffed expectantly as a medley of wonderful smells tickled her nostrils. Her antic.i.p.ation was fully borne out by the food itself. The coffee was strong and fresh, the eggs perfectly cooked, the bread thinly sliced. The sausages were ambrosia, the best Elizabeth had ever eaten. A plate of cold ham and sliced cheese completed the repast. Since it was the first edible meal she had had in over twenty-four hours, Elizabeth may be excused for eating everything on her plate and sc.r.a.ping up the crumbs.

"Very good," she exclaimed, smiling at Eric. "Very, very good."

"I told you you're wasting your time on him," Schmidt said. "Anyhow, he didn't cook it."

"Oh?" She was tempted to ask if Cheryl had been pressed into service, but caution prevailed. One never knew what fragment of careless speech might be used against one.

Eric was unmoved by Elizabeth's smiles and compliments. He picked up the tray and started to leave.

"Just a minute," Christian said. "I want you to take that chain off her."

"Does it bother you?" Schmidt inquired with a grin.

"It seems excessive," Christian said in his most supercilious voice. "You haven't seen fit to confine me."

"We don't have to. You wouldn't leave without her, would you? Because if you did manage to get away, you might not like what you found when you got back here with the police."

The door closed.

Elizabeth expected some comment from Christian. Instead he sat quite still, staring fixedly at his clenched hands. Then he got down and crawled under the bed.

He was there for so long that Elizabeth began to get worried. She tugged at his ankle. "What are you doing?"

"Sh!" His left hand appeared from under the blanket and made urgent gestures. "Be quiet."

Five minutes pa.s.sed. She was able to measure the time because Christian's watch was on his left wrist, which remained in sight. Otherwise she would have sworn it was at least an hour. She was about to tug at him again when he levered himself out.

"n.o.body has moved that bed for years," he said, in a thrilling whisper.