The Copenhagen Connection Part 18

Elizabeth took up her post at the window. The night air was cool and damp. The lighted square of the kitchen window cast an increasingly distinct outline on the ground below and to her left. If their luck held-if Radsky could control Schmidt-then when that square of light disappeared, signaling bedtime, their chances of escape would be multiplied several times over. But how slowly darkness crept in! She felt as if she had aged ten years for every minute that pa.s.sed.

Sounds carried distinctly on the still air. The infrequent, distant rush of a car pa.s.sing on the road was a reminder that freedom lay only a short distance away. The only other noise was the rustle of foliage. Once, far off in the distance, she heard a wolflike howling that made her skin p.r.i.c.kle until she realized it was probably only a neighbor's dog.

Then her skin p.r.i.c.kled again, in earnest, as she remembered Christian's nemesis. It was no wonder she had forgotten the dog; she had not heard it or even any reference to it. It must be a remarkably silent animal. It had not been silent, though, when Christian tried to pa.s.s the shed where it was confined. She wondered whether Christian had also forgotten this danger or whether he had simply decided they must deal with it when and if it arose.

During her next stint under the bed she heard Cheryl announce that she was going to bed. One down, Elizabeth thought-two to go. Surely Eric could be counted out as an adversary. The gift of the key proved he wished them success, even if he was unable or unwilling to take more positive action.

She hoped Schmidt would follow Cheryl, but apparently the card game was going well for him. He and Radsky continued to play, and they were still at it when she changed places with Christian.

When she looked out the window, darkness was almost complete. If they had to make a run for it now, they would have a good chance of being unseen. She was exhausted with strain; she actually began to nod as she stared, half hypnotized, at the square of light that represented the last impalpable barrier between them and their attempt to escape. Prison bars of light, walls of illumination . . .

Then she heard a sound that woke her completely and caused her to press her face to the crack between the boards. The sound continued and increased in volume -the crunching of gravel and the rustling of branches being moved aside. Someone was coming. Someone whose heavy breathing was occasionally interrupted by snuffling sobs.

The dog could not have heard this pathetic expression of woe. As Elizabeth learned later, the animal was kept in a windowless shed on the other side of the farmhouse. What sense it was that alerted it she never knew-perhaps the sixth sense that exists between animals and their masters. The sudden outburst of barks and whines and yelps was an expression of joyous greeting, not a watchdog's alarm.

The newcomer was now visible as a large dark shape on the graveled driveway. It responded with a whimper that sounded like an echo of the dog's, and blundered off behind the house.

Christian came shooting out from under the bed as Elizabeth turned from the window. "It's Wolf," they exclaimed simultaneously. Christian jumped onto the bed, spit inelegantly onto his fingers, and unscrewed the light bulb. Darkness fell like a m.u.f.fling cloak.

Elizabeth had the first board off the window when Christian joined her. Together they removed the second board. She expected to hear shouts and the sounds of a frantic pursuit, but only the rapturous whines of the dog met her ears. Then she understood. They would creep up on the unsuspecting innocent while he was greeting his pet. Either he had been watching the house and had concluded there was no danger, or else loneliness and fear had driven him back to the only safety he had ever known.

Christian looped one end of the rope under Elizabeth's arms.

"Shouldn't we wait?" she whispered. "They're all out there, hunting him-"

"They'll be too busy to notice us. Besides, what if they decide to bring him up here? Quick!"

They had planned the procedure in detail, and it went as neatly as if they had actually rehea.r.s.ed it. The descent was over before Elizabeth had time to wonder whether it would work. She moved out of the way as Christian slid down to stand beside her. There were two rectangles of light on the ground now. The kitchen door stood wide open.

They shrank back into the scanty concealment offered by the open door and some straggling bushes as a small procession came into sight around the corner of the house. Schmidt and Radsky each held one of Wolf's huge ankles; their combined strength was barely enough to drag him. His cap had fallen off and his head b.u.mped along the ground. As the movers paused for breath in the light from the kitchen window, Elizabeth saw that the big man's face was stained with blood. He was alive, though. His broad chest heaved up and down like a bellows.

"Hurry," Radsky grunted. "We must confine him before he wakes."

"I wish I'd shot him," Schmidt said, wiping his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "That would slow him down."

"More likely it would send him into a berserk rage. Hurry, I tell you. I have never dealt with a skull so thick; I cannot calculate how long he will be unconscious."

The two bent to their task again. Grunting and gasping, they inched the enormous body through the door. Wolfs head banged on the sill as they heaved the last part of him inside. Except for the blood on his face he might have been peacefully sleeping.

For a perilous moment the escapees stood motionless, Christian's arms holding Elizabeth tightly. She knew what kept him from moving, for she felt the same; she hated to leave the big, harmless man to the tender mercies of Schmidt and Radsky. But what could they do, without a weapon?

Slowly they moved away from the door, which was still open. Christian took the lead, holding Elizabeth's hand.

He knew the terrain and she did not; she was content to let him guide her, though she sensed they were moving away from the road, which would seem to be the quickest route to rescue. But if they had gone directly toward it they would have had to pa.s.s the open kitchen door; and perhaps after all it would be wiser to seek concealment in the woods. If their escape was discovered, the pursuers would a.s.sume they were heading for the highway.

Their route led them among the outbuildings of the farm, including the shed in which the dog was kept. The animal was still whining and whimpering, bewildered by the disappearance of its master. The whines changed to barks as the fugitives neared the shed, but it was not the dog that betrayed their escape. One of the gang must have gone upstairs. They were close enough to the house to hear a bellow of fury from Schmidt: "They're gone! Quick, after them."

"The lights, you fool," Radsky shouted back.

"Head for the woods," Christian said in his normal voice. There was no need to whisper; between the barking and the uproar from the house, nothing softer than a scream could have been heard. But they were still in the farmyard when they learned the meaning of Radsky's enigmatic order. Suddenly the whole area was illuminated by a harsh white glare. Eric had installed floodlights on the back of the house and the outbuildings.

For a moment the fugitives were blinded. It was immediately apparent that their pursuers had not been so affected. A bullet whizzed past Elizabeth and struck a post with a thunking sound.

Instinctively they both fell flat. To the now frantic howls of the dog had been added another equally frenzied sound, like the bellowing of a herd of elephants. Elizabeth had no time to speculate on the source of the noise-she didn't really believe it could be elephants- but she hoped the maddened creatures were safely penned up.

A second bullet chunked into the fence. No sound of an explosion accompanied it; Radsky was apparently using a silencer. Raising her head a scant inch, Elizabeth saw that the fence enclosed them on two sides, with a solid wooden barrier, part of a building, barring escape on the third side. The fourth, open side faced the house, and the guns of their pursuers.

"This way," Christian muttered. He started to crawl toward the only possible way out-a door in the wooden wall.

As they neared the door Elizabeth became aware of a strange and horrible odor. It was the concentrated essence-perhaps the origin-of the smell she had noticed on Eric's clothes. Not only did the odor increase in strength as they crawled toward the building, but so did the ghastly cacophony that formed a counterpoint to the dog's barking. It held a note of almost human frenzy.

Christian had to rise to his knees to lift the metal latch that held the door. He pulled his hand back in a hurry when a bullet struck the wood and sent splinters flying. But the door was now ajar, and without wasting time in gallantry Christian slid through the opening. A veritable fog of foul odor oozed out of the crack. Had it not been for Christian's vigorously gesturing hand and the vivid memory of the bullet that had narrowly missed that hand, Elizabeth would have preferred to remain outside. Never had she encountered a stench to equal the one that a.s.saulted her nostrils, and she dared not imagine what monstrosity was capable of producing it.

Christian yanked her in and closed the door. Darkness, stench, and howling enveloped them. It was the lesser of two evils, but just barely. Elizabeth clutched Christian in unashamed terror. "It's horrible-horrible! Oh, what is it?"

The darkness heaved with the movement of slow, ponderous bodies. "Pigs," Christian said, surprised. "It's a pig farm. Didn't you know?"

He switched on the tiny flashlight and moved it around, giving Elizabeth a long-drawn-out but adequate view of the interior of the place.

It was of considerable size, with pens on either side and a mucky, muddy path running down the center. The pens were inhabited by pigs of all sizes, ranging from enormous porkers to tiny piglets hardly longer than her hand. Most of them were white. Elizabeth giggled selfconsciously.

"I never knew they smelled so bad."

"They may smell, but they are very intelligent. Hey, watch out." He caught her hand as she reached out to pat the nearest pig. They were so much less offensive than Schmidt and Radsky-in everything except smell-that she felt quite affectionate toward them.

"The big boars can be mean," Christian warned. "And there is nothing nastier than a sow with piglets. They weigh as much as four hundred pounds."

"This is no time to discuss pigs," Elizabeth said hysterically. "We're trapped. What are we going to do?"

"Whatever we do will have to be done fast. They know we're in here and they know we're unarmed. They can simply walk in and-"

A shout interrupted him. It sounded as if the speaker were just outside the door.

"Come out with your hands up, Rosenberg."

"Play for time," Elizabeth said.

"Time isn't going to do us any good." But he replied, in a shout that set the pigs to squealing nervously, "Why should we come out?"

"Because if you do not, we will shoot to kill." This reply came from behind them. Christian spun around with a muttered curse, switching off the light. The voice had been Radsky's. He was at one of the windows at the far end.

"We will kill you rather than let you escape," Radsky continued. "But if you give yourself up you have nothing to fear but a few more hours of imprisonment."

"I don't believe you."

"Then you are not being logical. We are practical men. We do not risk a charge of murder without reason. Once we have what we want, we will leave you in peace."

"Give me time to think it over," Christian answered.

"Five minutes. We are a trifle pressed."

"I'll bet," Elizabeth said bitterly. "They can hardly wait to get back in there and start torturing Wolf. Radsky is lying, Christian. It's a trick."

"Maybe."

"How can you doubt it?"

"They have Wolf. He'll give them the information they want . . . one way or another. I know," he went on, as Elizabeth made a soft, protesting sound, "I know it sounds callous. But Wolf is in for it, no matter what we do. We can't help him. I'm inclined to believe Radsky because his reasoning is eminently practical and totally selfish. These people probably have criminal records, but their crimes may not include murder. Professional thieves and con men try to avoid that. It isn't as if we were the only ones who could identify them. Roger and Marie, Margaret, the witnesses at the airport . . ."

They had moved together in the darkness and stood with their arms around one another. "Then you think we should just give up?" Elizabeth asked.

"h.e.l.l, no. I'm simply pointing out that if the brilliant scheme I am about to put into effect fails, we won't be any worse off than we were before. So cheer up."

Before she could answer, he had scooped her up in his arms and lifted her over one of the low wooden part.i.tions that defined the pens. "I'll be right with you," he said. "Don't move."

A warm, bristly surface brushed Elizabeth's leg. Her yelp blended with the chorus of squeals that broke out all around her. Before she could obey her first impulse -to climb over the part.i.tion-Christian considerately turned on the flashlight and gave her a quick view of her surroundings. She was sharing the pen of three round fat white pigs, obviously triplets, and obviously only a few months old. At the sight of her they rushed forward, squeaking a demand for food, or possibly affection. She backed into a corner of the pen and stood at bay while three wet snouts nuzzled her calves.

Christian moved to the door.

"Time's up," Schmidt shouted.

"Come and get me," Christian called back, adding an uncomplimentary epithet.

He retreated, pausing briefly at each pen. The pigs were already agitated; it required little persuasion to arouse in them a restless wanderl.u.s.t. Christian jumped over the part.i.tion into the pen with Elizabeth and the Three Little Pigs just in time to avoid the rush of an immense sow who charged him, her multiple udders swinging.

When Schmidt kicked the door open, the avalanche of round white bodies bowled him clean over. A flood of pork poured out the opening.

"Now!" Christian lifted Elizabeth over the part.i.tion. They followed the porcine torrent, finding the path clear except for one minuscule piglet that had fallen behind in its pursuit of mama.

The yard was more enc.u.mbered. Most of the pigs were bewildered by the lights and the unexpected freedom. They were milling aimlessly and grunting in a nervous fashion. Schmidt was rolled up like an embryo, knees under his chin, both arms covering his head. A medium-sized pig was nibbling at his hair.

Christian's face was distorted with wild amus.e.m.e.nt. He vaulted a pig with agile grace and reached for Elizabeth's hand.

The bullet hit the ground just ahead of them, sending up a spout of mud like a miniature geyser. This time they heard the shot.

Sheer momentum carried them on a few feet, but they both knew it was hopeless. Radsky had given them one last warning; the next shot wouldn't be aimed at the ground. In the glaring light he could hardly miss.

"Very sensible," Radsky said approvingly, as they came to a stop. "Now turn, both of you."

He stood by the fence, his feet apart and both hands grasping the weapon. Out of the corner of her eye Elizabeth saw Schmidt uncurl himself and stand up. He started walking toward them.

"Stay out of the line of fire, you fool," Radsky said sharply.

Schmidt kept coming. He looked like a sleepwalker, eyes glazed, bared front teeth gleaming like fangs. The right side of his body was coated with damp earth, and a distinct odor of pig accompanied him. He paid no attention to the animals that wandered across his path. His eyes were fixed, unblinkingly, on Christian.

"If you put him to sleep, you'll have to carry him yourself," Radsky said coolly. "I've had enough of that activity lately."

TIED HAND and foot to stout kitchen chairs, which were in turn lashed to the supports of a tall built-in cupboard, Elizabeth and Christian contemplated each other dispiritedly. Christian was gagged as well as bound. At the last minute Schmidt had decided to let him walk into the house on his own two feet, but once his hands were tied, Schmidt had hit him a few times, and Christian had resorted to verbal abuse, having no other means of retaliation available. Tiring of his comments, Schmidt had stuffed a dishcloth into his mouth.

Elizabeth was not inclined toward conversation anyway. She could only pray that Radsky had meant what he said, and hope that Christian wouldn't strangle with suppressed fury. One of Schmidt's slaps had reopened the gash on his cheek, and the bloodstained gag was a fearsome sight. His hair was standing up in agitated tufts and his eyes bulged with opinions he was unable to express. And this was the man whom she had once despised as cold-blooded and conventional!

On the whole, Elizabeth preferred to fix her eyes on his beloved if battered countenance rather than watch what was going on elsewhere in the room. The unfortunate Wolf had been so swathed in ropes, towels, and other bonds that very little of his clothing was visible between them, and the interrogation was about to begin. Eric was nowhere in sight. Elizabeth a.s.sumed he was imprisoned somewhere, and she understood Schmidt's ruffled and unkempt appearance. He had had a busy night, overcoming Eric, dragging Wolf, and being trampled by pigs.

Cheryl had pulled up a chair and was watching interestedly while Radsky made his preparations to persuade Wolf. They were not complex-only the detailed inspection and polishing of a long, thin knife, which he had taken from a leather scabbard strapped to his side. The lights dazzled off the blade as he turned it. Wolf let out a whimper.

"He recognizes it," Radsky said coolly. "I told him tales about it. ... Now, my very large and simple-minded friend, I hope your feeble brain has not forgotten where you put Margaret's bathrobe."

Elizabeth exchanged a startled look with her necessarily silent a.s.sociate. So the seemingly insane phrase did have meaning. It meant something to Wolf. Tears began to roll down his vast cheeks, forming puddles on either side of his head.

Radsky walked slowly toward him, brandishing the knife. "Speak to him," he ordered Cheryl. "Tell him we must know where it is."

Cheryl addressed the big man in halting Danish. His head turned toward her when she spoke, but instead of replying he sobbed louder.

"I can't stand this," Elizabeth muttered. Christian tugged vainly at the ropes, then subsided, beads of perspiration standing out on his forehead. Cheryl repeated the question. She had to shout to make herself heard over Wolf's wails. From the hall beyond the open kitchen door, two more instruments added themselves to the orchestrated din-a violent rattling and banging and a high keening voice, rising and falling in an eerie chant.

Schmidt jumped up. "I'll shut the old witch up! What the h.e.l.l is she saying?"

Cheryl listened, and then reported, "She keeps yelling, 'Tell them what they want to know, tell them what they want to know.' "

"And very good advice, too," said Radsky. "Do you hear, Wolf?"

Wolf wept louder, the imprisoned cook kept shrieking, and the banging increased in volume. Schmidt started for the door. He looked extremely rattled.

"Stay here," Radsky ordered. "Why do you let a helpless old woman get on your nerves?"

"If she's the one kicking the door, she's not so helpless," Schmidt muttered. "Holy G.o.d!"

"That's Eric," Cheryl said. "In the bas.e.m.e.nt. He must of heard me when I yelled at Wolf."

"The whole G.o.dd.a.m.n neighborhood can hear you," Schmidt bellowed.

"Shut up!" Radsky brought the knife down in a whistling arc. The gesture silenced Schmidt and Cheryl. Even Wolf stopped weeping and stared at Radsky with mute terror.

In the silence the cries of the elderly prisoner wavered up and down the scale like a Buddhist anthem. Eric's kicks on the door had developed a regular rhythm, and Elizabeth's head began to nod in time. She had never realized that incipient tragedy could have overtones of pure slapstick. The old lady's howls and the steady banging reminded her of some of the rock groups she had heard.

Radsky was beginning to show signs of strain, and from the uneasy way in which his colleagues eyed him, Elizabeth realized that this was a bad omen. Radsky was dangerous enough when he kept his temper. She hated to think what he was like when he lost it.

With an effort that reddened his pale face, the little man controlled himself and returned to the matter at hand. Wolf watched him like a rabbit hypnotized by the baleful stare of a snake.

"Now, Wolf, you must tell me," he said softly. He knelt on the floor by his prisoner. Elizabeth closed her eyes.

She need not have worried. Wolf began to talk in a frantic high-pitched flow of words, interrupted occasionally by gurgles as tears ran into his mouth.

"First he says nothing, then he will not stop," Radsky complained. "What the devil is he saying?"