Nothing To Lose, page 7
Reutall nodded. “And if he is not a British agent?”
“Then it will be best to dispose of him. If he is working without restraint and for the purposes of vengeance only then he will undoubtedly make straight for our friend Vargo once we have released him. This time he will probably kill him. As long as we are not stirring up a hornet’s nest for ourselves I would prefer to insure against that possibility.”
Vargo said tightly, “I think he should be killed, regardless of who he is working for. And another thing, I have been taking all the risks in this organisation for far too long. They know enough about me now to jail me for life a dozen times over, and any day now they are going to realise that they cannot use me any more and do just that. I think Larren should be killed and myself allowed the one-way ticket on the Ostravia that I was promised. It’s time I got out, before it’s too late.”
Carnegie grinned. “What’s the matter, getting scared?”
Dressler swung round to face the Irishman, his face hard beneath the thick glasses. “He’s entitled to be scared, Carnegie, and he is right. It is time he got out. Or at least, nearly time.” He turned back to Vargo. “Your escape will be arranged soon, in the meantime you will carry on as usual. I will decide upon the exact time for you to get out.”
Vargo said nothing. He was still shaken by his beating earlier in the evening, and now his swarthy face was paler still. His nerves were plainly under heavy pressure.
Dressler went on, “You will not be forgotten, our superiors know what is best. They will take good care of you.”
Reutall spoke again. “The question at the moment is quite plain: is this man Larren employed by British Intelligence, or is he not?”
Vargo said flatly, “He is not. He’s meddling only because his wife was killed, and because Carter put him on to me. That’s all.”
Dressler tapped his cane irritably on the table. “I wish I could be sure of that.” He looked up and slowly glanced at the three faces in turn. “All right,” he decided. “You have all heard the facts, we will put the matter to the vote.”
Vargo said quickly, “Kill him.”
Carnegie nodded. “I say the same.”
Reutall looked down at his black-gloved hands. “I agree,” he said softly. “But first I think I ought to talk to him, just in case he can tell us anything.”
Dressler heaved a sigh. “So be it. He dies.”
In the cellar below Larren could hear nothing of what the four men were saying, and could only guess at what was in store for him. However his guess was pretty near the truth. His idea of setting himself up as bait by terrorising Vargo had developed too fast and too soon, and had recoiled back upon him with a vengeance. It was a certainty now that they would kill him, and the only thing that puzzled him was the delay.
He had few regrets as he lay there in the darkness of the cellar. As he had told Smith, without Andrea he had nothing worthwhile to lose. He only wished that he had killed Vargo while he had the chance.
At first he had automatically strained and pulled at his bonds in an effort to get free, but once he had realised the futility of his efforts he had relaxed and conserved his strength. Now he waited fatalistically. If lady luck granted him another chance he would put up a desperate fight for his life, if not he would die with as little fuss as possible.
The sudden opening of the cellar door above him made him tense momentarily, but he forced himself to relax. The light clicked on, hurting his eyes and stabbing at the back of his skull again. Through slitted lids he watched the four men descend and stand around him.
Dressler said calmly, “I regret, Mr. Larren, that we have found it necessary to terminate your miserable existence. I should like to do it cleanly, but I’m afraid that there are a few questions we must ask you first. I hope you understand.”
Vargo started forward. “This is my job. I owe it to him.”
Dressler held him back. “I prefer to watch an artist, crudity always nauseates me.” He looked at Reutall and nodded.
The ex-SS man smirked broadly and began to remove his jacket. From a thick leather wallet in the inside pocket he extracted a long needle fitted with a handle, something like a very fine screwdriver. Noticeably, he did not remove his tight leather gloves as he held the implement up to the light. None of the others had ever seen Reutall without those gloves, he never bared those deep brand marks on his hands. The loss of his manhood he had accepted with comparative calm, for he had never felt the urge to sleep with a woman anyway. But those deeply scarred burns on his hands filled him with hatred. His hands would carry those marks for ever, and Reutall could never forget it.
Dressler went on softly, “According to our friend Vargo you claim to be operating alone, is that correct?”
Larren tried to keep his voice steady. “That’s right.”
Dressler shrugged and stepped back out of Reutall’s way. The black-gloved sadist turned Larren over on to his back with the toe of one highly polished shoe, and then knelt beside him. With one hand he ripped Larren’s shirt apart and gently stroked his bare chest. Larren felt a quiver of revulsion from the cold touch of the leather-clad hand. Then Reutall deftly thrust the vicious little needle implement between his second and third ribs and scraped the razor-sharp point along the bone.
Larren screamed.
Reutall paused in his work, his eyes gleaming.
Dressler’s voice came as a low hiss. “Are you sure, Larren? Are you absolutely sure?”
Larren was panting hard. “I’m sure.”
Reutall smiled as he tried to wriggle away and said silkily, “Hold him, Carnegie.”
The big Irishman obeyed, seizing Larren’s shoulders and pinning him to the ground. Again Larren felt the excruciating agony as that slender needle pierced his flesh and scraped along the bone. This time, however, he was ready and kept his teeth clamped together. Sweat drenched his face.
Dressler said again, “No second thoughts, Mr. Larren?”
Larren couldn’t answer.
“Perhaps the collarbone,” mused Reutall thoughtfully. “There are nearly two hundred bones in the human body that I can try.”
Dressler said nothing as he began to experiment.
Fifteen minutes later Larren had passed out beyond immediate recovery. He had told them nothing and Dressler was finally convinced that he had nothing to tell. Calmly he ordered the reluctant Reutall to replace his deadly little needle. Then he turned to the others.
“I think that settles the question, gentlemen. Carnegie, I shall leave you and Vargo to arrange his disposal. There is a brick floor in the cellar next to this one, you can take it up and dig a suitable hole for him there. When you have finished it kill and bury him. Make sure you leave no trace. Any soil you may have left over after replacing the bricks you can take away, shovel it into sacks and use Vargo’s car to dump it. Reutall and I will leave you to it, we have other things to do.”
Carnegie grinned. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Good.” Dressler straightened his tie fastidiously and then glanced down at the inert body of Simon Larren. He tapped him lightly with his cane. “You, my friend, can lie there and meditate upon your sins while our good friends dig your grave. You have possibly an hour before dying.”
He smiled all round, then turned and hurried up the stone steps to the closed door of the cellar. Reutall followed him. They left without looking back.
CHAPTER 8: AGAIN THE REDHEAD
When Claudine separated from Dressler she drove straight to her own flat in Hammersmith. Fournier Building was one of the towering fifteen-storey blocks that had sprung up in all parts of London during recent years, and Claudine had a three-room flat on the fourth floor.
She parked Vargo’s Morris a few yards from the main doors and climbed out swiftly. She came round to collect Vargo and had to get his arm around her shoulders before she could haul him out of the car. She closed the door by knocking it shut with her knee and then hustled Vargo up the steps and into the building. She was relieved to find the lobby empty and hurried her burden into the lift.
She allowed him to lean up against the wall as the lift rose slowly. His eyes were closed and he was breathing painfully. His face was still bleeding from the pistol-whipping he had received from Larren. Claudine watched him coldly and gave a silent, disgusted sigh. When the lift stopped she paused to ensure that there was no one in the corridor and then hastily thrust him into her own flat. She pushed him into the bedroom and let him collapse on the bed. Then she went back and carefully locked the door.
The three rooms of the flat consisted of the bedroom, bathroom and a pocket-sized kitchen. Claudine returned to the bedroom and deftly mixed herself a large gin and martini from the collection of bottles in a small oak cabinet. She stood by the bed, sipping her drink, her free hand thrust in her raincoat pocket as she stared down at Vargo.
The man moaned and opened his eyes. His gaze rested on the glass in her hand and then moved to her face, there was something repulsive in the greedy way he watched her drinking.
She finished the drink in one long swallow and then turned and splashed whisky into the same glass. She handed it to him and said calmly, “You don’t mind, do you? I just hate washing glasses.”
Vargo gulped at the drink without answering.
Claudine turned away, her eyes were thoughtful. She was thinking of the man who called himself Simon Larren, remembering the brief touch of his kiss as she had lain, trussed hand and foot on the bed. There was something disturbing in the memory of Simon Larren, a strange desire that sent a delicious trembling through her loins. With an effort she pushed her thoughts away.
Vargo said suddenly, “My face — do something about my face.”
She looked back at him. He had struggled to a sitting position on the bed and was glowering at her intently. She said at last, “I’ll get some water.”
As she went into the bathroom he reached out again for the whisky bottle and slopped a giant helping into his glass, when she came back he had drained it and was in the act of tilting the bottle again.
She took it away from him and thrust it back in the cabinet, firmly closing the door. She said flatly, “I don’t want you getting stinking drunk in here. I’ve got my reputation to think of.”
Vargo laughed, but the laugh ended abruptly as his smile pulled at the split skin along his cheekbones. He winced and remained silent as she began to sponge the blood off his face. When she had finished she expertly applied two long strips of Elastoplast. She stepped back and regarded her work for a moment. “You’ll do,” she observed. She turned away to empty the bowl of pink water in the bathroom.
Vargo said viciously, “Larren will pay for this. Some day I will kill him.” She didn’t answer and he finally lay back on the bed and relaxed.
When she returned to the bedroom his eyes were closed and he lay like some gross robber baron in a drunken coma. She wondered vaguely how she had ever been able to sleep with him and had to suppress a little shudder. Turning away she unbelted her raincoat and threw it off. As Larren had guessed when he watched her leave Anglia Mews she wore nothing underneath. She rummaged in her wardrobe for some clothes, dressing without haste or embarrassment. At last, attired in a tight skirt of wine-red velvet and a pink nylon blouse, she went into the kitchen and began to heat some coffee.
An hour later the telephone rang. Vargo stirred on the bed and reached out a hand to answer it. Three seconds later he swung his feet on to the floor and jerked upright as though he had been shot. He drew his tongue across his lips, making them glisten wetly as he listened to the voice at the other end. Claudine, who had been washing the coffee cups, came to the kitchen door and leaned against the frame as she watched him. He finally uttered a curt, “I’ll be right over,” and slammed the phone down.
He looked up to meet Claudine’s inquiring glance. His eyes gleamed triumphantly. “Dressler has caught Larren. I must go.” The news had instilled him with new strength and the effects of his beating were forgotten. He got up from the bed and snapped his fingers impatiently. “The keys! The keys to my car!”
She said slowly, “It isn’t locked.”
Vargo hesitated for a second, then, without another word, he spun round on his heel and hurried out of the room. The door slammed hard behind him.
Claudine stared at the closed door. Her heart was hammering just a little faster than normal and there was a sudden shiver running through her stomach. For a moment she could again feel the strength in Larren’s large bronzed hands as he had lifted her shoulders off the bed; could see again the resistance-melting gaze in those grey-green eyes. She made her decision abruptly and swiftly scooped up her raincoat as she followed Vargo out of the room. She belted it around her waist as she ran along the corridor. The lift was already dropping out of sight.
Without hesitation she ran down the stairs, taking them three at a time. She took the last flight in one jump and almost fell to her knees as she landed. The lift cage was then coming to a rest beside her but she was up and across the lobby before the slow-moving doors grated open. By the time Vargo could see into the lobby she was already outside the building.
She sprinted madly for the corner of the block and disappeared around it a split second before Vargo came hurrying down the steps towards his car. Without looking back Claudine carried on to the back of the building where a wide empty space had been reserved for the tenants to park their cars. Among the vehicles there was her own two-seater baby sports. She reached it and almost fell into the driving seat, her lungs straining wildly for air. She had to waste several seconds in getting her breath back before she could even go so far as starting the engine.
In her haste she dented the wing of the nearest saloon as she backed the two-seater out of the park. She swore in a most unladylike fashion, but otherwise she ignored it. By the time she had driven round to the front of Fournier Building again Vargo’s Morris was just pulling out of sight, heading back in the direction of Kensington. Claudine stepped hard on the accelerator and closed the gap before relaxing to follow him at a safe distance.
Vargo was too intent upon his driving, and gripped too fast by the urge to settle with Larren to waste time in looking around him. He drove hard across London and reached the warehouse just outside the West India Docks without once looking back. He recognised Dressler’s Hillman parked outside and deliberately drove farther on before parking up a side alley. It was not wise to advertise their presence by leaving a large collection of cars gathered outside the warehouse, and it was an unwritten law that the vehicles should be scattered.
Claudine too saw the parked Hillman and instantly braked her two-seater to a stop. She hesitated for a few seconds and then slipped the gears into reverse and backed away as fast as possible. She found another side street fifty yards back and swung the two-seater into it and out of sight. Swiftly she drove the car into a recess before a wide gateway and then switched off the engine and lights. She ran back to the corner just in time to see Vargo entering the warehouse by a side door.
She tightened her belt as she glanced around the darkened streets, then, finding she was alone, she ran over to the doorway and hid herself in the shadows. She waited, partly to ease her laboured breathing and partly to give Vargo time to get clear, then she carefully tried the door. It was still unlocked and she slipped stealthily inside. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. The interior of the building was as black and silent as the grave.
She waited, completely blind, straining her ears to catch the slightest sound, but all she could hear was the thud of her own heart. She drew a deep breath and decided that wherever Vargo and Dressler might be they were not in the immediate vicinity. Even so she hesitated another two to three minutes before daring to strike a match.
In the dim flicker of the match flame she could see hardly anything of the interior of the warehouse. To her right there was a high stack of bales and she moved towards them. Somehow she felt safer in this pitch darkness when she knew she was fenced in on both sides. The match burned to her fingers and went out, and she knew it was hopeless to attempt any serious searching in here with just a box of matches. Instead she pressed herself back against the bales, away from the door, and waited.
The eerie, silent darkness had a chilling effect upon her and she had to take a firm grip on her nerves to keep them under control. She would have given anything during that next hour and a half to have that automatic Larren had taken from her back in her hand.
When her vigil suddenly ended with the opening of a door some thirty yards away across the wide warehouse floor the shock literally stopped her heart. When it resumed beating she released the air in her lungs in a silent gasp of relief. She recognised the two men standing in the bright square of light as Dressler and Franz Reutall. The door slammed behind them, cutting off the light and plunging the warehouse into darkness once more. Then a torch clicked in Dressler’s hand and the two men came towards her.
Claudine watched the wavering beam for a second and then moved deeper into the maze of bales. As the two men passed she heard them talking in low voices.
Dressler was saying, “I still don’t like it. I have a feeling we may be making a mistake.”
Reutall smiled. “It is no mistake. Larren is safer dead.”
They reached the outer door and went out into the night. Dressler slammed the door shut and pitch blackness shrouded the warehouse again. After a few moments to steady her nerve Claudine began to move. She knew now that she had to hurry.
She moved slowly through the darkness towards the door she had seen momentarily as Dressler and Reutall had appeared. She felt her way carefully across the floor, wary of any unexpected obstacles. At last she bumped into the wall and had to feel her way along until she could trace the outline of the door with her hands. She pressed her ear against the dusty woodwork and held her breath as she listened for any sound from within. There was nothing to be heard and she finally risked trying the door.
