The Last Frontier. Alistair MacLean

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СКАЧАТЬ desk before him, stared at them, then looked up at Reynolds, his forehead creased. ‘Why did you run away?’

      ‘Oh, my God!’ Reynolds shook his head in despair: the obvious question had been a long time coming, and he’d had plenty of time to prepare. ‘What would you do if a couple of thugs, waving their guns around, set on you in the darkness? Lie down and let them butcher you?’

      ‘They were police officers. You could –’

      ‘Certainly they’re police officers,’ Reynolds interrupted acidly. ‘I can see that now – but it was as black as night inside the back of the truck.’ He was stretched out at his ease now, calm and relaxed, his mind racing. He had to end this interview quickly. The little man behind the desk was, after all, a lieutenant in the police or its equivalent. He couldn’t possibly be as stupid as he looked, he might stumble across an awkward question at any moment. Quickly Reynolds decided that his best hope lay in audacity: the hostility was gone from his manner, and his voice was friendly as he went on.

      ‘Look, let’s forget about this. I don’t think it’s your fault. You were just doing your duty – unfortunate though the consequences of your zeal might be for you. Let’s make a deal: you provide me with transport to Budapest, and I’ll forget it all. No reason why this should ever reach the ears of your superiors.’

      ‘Thank you. You are very kind.’ The police officer’s reception of the proposal was less enthusiastic than Reynolds had expected, one might even have imagined a hint of dryness in the tone. ‘Tell me, Buhl, why were you in that truck? Hardly a normal method of transport for businessmen as important as yourself. And you didn’t even let the driver know.’

      ‘He would probably have refused me – he had a notice forbidding unauthorized passengers.’ Far back in Reynolds’ mind a tiny little warning bell was ringing. ‘My appointment is urgent.’

      ‘But why –’

      ‘The truck?’ Reynolds smiled ruefully. ‘Your roads are treacherous. A skid on ice, a deep ditch and there you were – my Borgward with a broken front axle.’

      ‘You came by car? But for businessmen in a hurry –’

      ‘I know, I know!’ Reynolds let a little testiness, a little impatience, creep into his voice. ‘They come by plane. But I had 250 kilos of machine samples in the boot and back of my car: you can’t lug a damned great weight like that aboard a plane.’ Angrily, now, he stubbed out his cigarette. ‘This questioning is ridiculous. I’ve established my bona-fides and I’m in a great hurry. What about that transport?’

      ‘Two more little questions, and then you shall go,’ the officer promised. He was leaning back comfortably in his chair now, fingers steepled across his chest, and Reynolds felt his uneasiness deepen. ‘You came direct from Vienna? The main road?’

      ‘Of course! How else would I come?’

      ‘This morning?’

      ‘Don’t be silly.’ Vienna was less than 120 miles from where they were. ‘This afternoon.’

      ‘Four o’clock? Five o’clock?’

      ‘Later. Ten past six exactly. I remember looking at my watch as I passed through your customs post.’

      ‘You could swear to that?’

      ‘If necessary, yes.’

      The police officer’s nod, the quick shifting of his eyes, took Reynolds by surprise, and, before he could move, three pairs of hands had pinioned his from behind, dragged him to his feet, twisted his arms in front of him and snapped on a pair of shiny steel handcuffs.

      ‘What the devil does this mean?’ In spite of the shock, the cold fury in Reynolds’ tone could hardly have been bettered.

      ‘It just means that a successful liar can never afford to be unsure of his facts.’ The policeman tried to speak equably, but the triumph in his voice and eyes were unmistakable. ‘I have news for you, Buhl – if that is your name, which I don’t for a moment believe. The Austrian frontier has been closed to all traffic for twenty-four hours – a normal security check, I believe – as from three o’clock this afternoon. Ten past six by your watch indeed!’ Grinning openly, now, he stretched out a hand for the telephone. ‘You’ll get your transport to Budapest, all right, you insolent imposter – in the back of a guarded police car. We haven’t had a Western spy on our hands for a long time now: I’m sure they’ll be delighted to send transport for you, just especially for you, all the way from Budapest.’

      He broke off suddenly, frowned, jiggled the receiver up and down, listened again, muttered something under his breath and replaced the receiver with an angry gesture.

      ‘Out of order again! That damned thing is always out of order.’ He was unable to conceal his disappointment, to have made the important announcement personally would have been one of the highlights of his life. He beckoned the nearest of the men.

      ‘Where is the nearest telephone?’

      ‘In the village. Three kilometres.’

      ‘Go there as fast as you can.’ He scribbled furiously on a sheet of paper. ‘Here is the number and the message. Don’t forget to say it comes from me. Hurry, now.’

      The man folded the message, stuffed it into his pocket, buttoned his coat to the neck and left. Through the momentarily opened door, Reynolds could see that, even in the short time that had elapsed since his capture, clouds had moved across the stars and slow, heavy snowflakes were beginning to swirl across the silhouetted oblong of darkening sky. He shivered involuntarily, then looked back at the police officer.

      ‘I’m afraid that you’ll pay heavily for this,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re making a very grave mistake.’

      ‘Persistence is an admirable thing in itself, but the wise man knows when to stop trying.’ The little fat man was enjoying himself. ‘The only mistake I made was ever to believe a word you said.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘An hour and a half, perhaps two, on these snowy roads, before your – ah – transport arrives. We can fill in that time very profitably. Information, if you please. We’ll start off with your name – your real one this time, if you don’t mind.’

      ‘You’ve already had it. You’ve seen my papers.’ Unasked, Reynolds resumed his seat, unobtrusively testing his handcuffs: strong, close-fitting over the wrist and no hope there. Even so, even with bound hands, he could have disposed of the little man – the spring-knife was still under his trilby – but it was hopeless to think of it, not with three armed policemen behind him. ‘That information, those papers, are accurate and true. I can tell lies to oblige you.’

      ‘No one is asking you to tell lies, just to, shall we say, refresh your memory? Alas, it probably needs some jogging.’ He pushed back from the desk, levered himself heavily to his feet – he was even shorter and fatter standing upright than he had seemed sitting down – and walked round his desk. ‘Your name, if you please?’

      ‘I told you –’ Reynolds broke off with a grunt of pain as a heavily ringed hand caught him twice across the face, back-handed and forehanded. He shook his head to clear it, lifted his bound arms and wiped some blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. His face was expressionless.

      ‘Second thoughts are always wiser thoughts,’ the little man beamed. ‘I СКАЧАТЬ