Blow My Mind, page 14
part #13 of Lady From L.U.S.T. Series
The young man yelled something in Austrian, which I can’t understand. So I cried out in Italian, “Please. I’ve lost my way. Can I come in?”
His eyes got big when he opened the door. He said in halting Italian, “Who are you? What are you doing in these hills?”
I guess my slacks and black sweater had him a little fooled. He thought I was a smart-alecky city girl, as he confessed to me later on. Right now I wore a hungry look and asked if he had any more soup.
He filled a spare bowl and set a loaf of bread down on a plate with some cheese. He poured milk, asking questions all the time.
I lied to him. I told him I was a tourist who’d had a fight with her husband on the train to Vienna, and that my husband had pushed me off. He was properly horrified. I asked him if he knew any way I could get back to Italy without being captured by the authorities, since my husband had my passport.
He grinned when I asked that. “You are afraid of the authorities, hey?” he chuckled. “Well, I am afraid, too. Not that I am a criminal, you understand, it is just the way the authorities do business. I am quite content here with my goats. I do not make much money, but I eat good. I do know a way through the mountains, but it will take a long time—and I cannot spare any of my time to act as your guide. I must tend to my goats.”
He shrugged and ate. My eyes roamed the house. I saw a small ladder leading to an upper story where I assumed the bedroom would be. The whole downstairs was one huge room, part kitchen and part living room. The place was neat, but worn.
I said cautiously, “Perhaps you could tell me where I might hire a guide? I mean, if you can’t go with me, maybe another man can.”
“You have money?” he asked thoughtfully.
I thought about L.U.S.T. And all the money it receives from Uncle Sam for international emergencies. “I have plenty. I’ll pay any fee you name, but I don’t have it on me.” His eyes went over my sweater and slacks. “I can get it for you in any Yugoslav town that has a telegraph office.”
“Dravograd,” he nodded. “It’s just over the border.”
“How far?”
“Twenty miles, about.”
He sat back and reached for his pipe and tobacco pouch. I thought about his goats while I watched him. I asked, “How much are your goats worth?”
“Fifty thousand shillings.”
This translates roughly into about two thousand American dollars. “I’ll pay you a hundred thousand shillings for them. If I buy them you can leave them here to browse while you guide me to Dravograd. Fair enough?”
He would not be hurried, a thoughtful, quiet type, contemplative and slow. He would think about my offer, he told me. Meantime, he would wash up. He would let me have the upstairs bedroom. He would sleep on the floor down here in a bedroll.
We sat and talked for a couple of hours. His name was Hans Greipfig, and he was almost thirty years old. He wanted to get married, but no girl would consider living this high in the mountains. They all claimed it would be very boring, with only the goats and a husband to keep them company. I had to agree with them. Tending goats is not my bag either.
Still, I was lucky to have landed here. A few miles either way and I would have missed him completely. I was not yet home free, but at least I was not out there on a mountain slope, freezing to death.
I slept like a baby in Hans’ big bed.
I woke in the morning to the smell of eggs, ham and bubbling coffee. I told myself an Austrian girl might do worse than marry young Hans. He was a solid citizen, and though his goats did not make him wealthy, he owned them outright and made enough to support a small family. I came downstairs with a big smile on my face.
“Have you thought it all out?” I asked.
He nodded, placing a plate of scrambled eggs and two slices of ham. before me. There was milk and some Viennese coffee. “Eat,” he muttered noncommittally.
I ate until I was stuffed. Hans Greipfig sat down opposite me and ate about twice as much. When he was done, he loaded up his morning pipe and pursed his lips.
“I have thought it all out, as you say,” he began. “I have a doubt as to whether I can trust you. I may guide you to Dravograd and you may run away without paying me. This is a risk I could take.
“On the other hand, you may be willing and able to pay me the hundred thousand shillings you promise. This will make me a very well-to-do man in these mountains. I will be able to buy many more goats and even hire a man to care for them. This means I will have more time to go down to the village and court Elsa.”
“Your girl friend?”
He nodded gravely, sending out a few smoke signals from his pipe. “Yes. I love Elsa Hochhauser very much. She will not marry me at the time.” His broad shoulders shrugged. “She thinks it will be too lonely up here. With more goats, with a man to tend them, we will be able to spend more time in town.
“And so it is I have decided.”
He got up and knocked the dottle from his pipe into his palm. He was wearing a white shirt and leather shorts called lederhosen, high woolen socks and thick walking shoes. He looked me over, shaking his head.
“Is not too good, you’re going like that in those—those little things on your feet But I do not have the shoes to loan you.”
“I’ll manage,” I said bravely. “Besides, it’s only twenty miles to Dravograd, you said last night.”
“As the bird goes, yes. For us, it will be nearer one hundred.” At my exclamation he said, “The mountains go up and down, ja? It is up and down, up and down, for one hundred miles of walking. And so I will carry a bedroll for us both while you carry the bag of food.”
When I hefted the food bag, I protested it had enough for an army. He shook his head gloomily and remarked it was not enough.
We went out into the morning sunlight and started walking.
Walking up and down mountains is the most boring way of traveling I know. It is also the most frustrating, as well as the most exhausting. It took us half a week to reach Dravograd. Good time for a girl like me, Hans Greipfig commented, considering that I was not mountain bred.
Oh, sure. The scenery was beautiful, but if you are slipping and sliding down a mountainside as I often was, the scenery goes by too fast for real enjoyment. If you are climbing up a mountainside, you are too tired to rotate your eyeballs to the nearest snow-tipped peak.
Still, we got there.
We came into the city at dusk on the fourth day, when the town lights were going on and men were closing their stores. Hans took me right to the telegraph office. I sent a wire to David Anderjanian.
In less than half an hour a man was bowing to me in the telegraph office, stating that there was a hotel suite reserved for me, and a room for my guide, at the nearby Royal Slovenia. There was money deposited to my name as well.
“There won’t be five thousand dollars there yet,” I told Hans as we walked along the darkening street, both of us shivering to the chill blasts coming off the Karawanken. “But whatever it is, I’ll split it down the middle with you.”
There was a thousand dollars. I gave five hundred to Hans Greipfig, who was overjoyed. Then his native caution asserted itself. “This is not a down payment, is it? This is not part of the five thousand dollars for my goats, is it?”
“No, it is not,” I told him. “This is just for spending money—so let’s go spend it.”
We had dinner at the hotel which I charged to my account, and then Hans and I hunted up a store that was still open. I bought myself a Loden coat, a sheepskin-lined affair. It might not have been as smart as something I could have bought on Fifth Avenue, but it was warm enough to keep the chill winds off my behind.
We went back to the hotel giggling like kids.
I telephoned David Anderjanian. I got Marion Rorwick.
“Darling, he’s flown to be with you!” she cried.
“What are you doing in his room?” I asked suspiciously, remembering the way she’d been dressed when she’d gone night calling on my case officer.
Marion laughed gaily. “We had all his calls transferred to our room, darling. Now don’t worry about a thing. David will be there in a matter of hours.”
Well, that was a relief. Especially when her husband grabbed the phone to say hello and to tell me I was doing a great job. I hung up wondering when my case officer would reach me.
He arrived the following morning, just as I was turning over to burrow into the warm blankets for another session of shut-eye. He barged in the door, having told everybody I was his wife, swept back the covers, and yanked me up and into his arms. I was too sleepy to put up a fight, I just dropped my arms about his neck and hung on.
Then I got suspicious. “Hey,” I yelled, pushing him away. “How come the love and kisses treatment? I didn’t get Astral Alex, you know—or hadn’t you heard?”
“You killed those two bodyguards, didn’t you?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“They were still in the compartment as the Trans-Alpine Express nosed into Vienna. You know what that means. The Austrian police clamped down on everybody in the train. They held them incommunicado for quite a while, I understand. They had to let them go, of course—but they made sure they won’t leave Vienna for a few days.”
I understood.
“And since Aleksandr Tkachevich was on the train, he’s also being detained! Oh, David—that’s marvelous.” An idea clobbered me. “But won’t the Russians protest? I mean, they want Alex in Moscow to make his report, don’t they?”
“Sure they do, but if they make waves about an obscure little character called Aleksandr Tkachevich, they’ll rouse suspicions. They’re too secretive to let that happen.
“No, they’ve got Alex off in a hunting lodge outside the city on the Danube. They’re treating him royally, I understand—good food, fine wine, pretty girls to make sure he won’t get lonesome. Even some guards to prevent anybody from intruding on his happiness.
“Guards, you say?”
He stood back and eyed me from under raised eyebrows. “You aren’t going to stop now? When you have Astral Alex as good as presented to you on a silver platter?”
“I happen to be in Dravograd. He’s in Vienna, or just outside it.”
“Ever hear of airplanes? We can fly you to Vienna in an hour, once we reach Zagreb, which is only about seventy miles away. I’ve arranged for a helicopter to take us there.”
David thinks of everything.
He even sent down for breakfast so I could eat in my room to save time. He paid five thousand American dollars to happy Hans Greipfig. David thought he saw dollar signs in his bright eyes, but I knew better; he was seeing Elsa Hochhauser coming toward him on their wedding night.
Inside the hour we were whirly-birding toward Zagreb.
I boarded a BEA plane with my luggage. David had flown it on to Zagreb so that I might appear the ordinary tourist. I was registered at a very swank Imperial Hotel. Over a century old, it is the foremost hotel in Austria.
My small suite was done in antique furnishing, including crystal chandelier, gilded chairs, lounges, and a bed in which five people could have slept with reasonable comfort. I whipped off my clothes and dived under a soothing shower.
I phoned a rent-a-car service, standing with a towel wrapped about my wet curves. Then I got dressed for business. I put on a black nylon leotard; over this I wore a mini-skirt, love-beads, and a body ornament, a belt that circled my hips as if it were hugging them. I slipped my Belgian Bulldog into my handbag, along with other useful things, like a can of Mace.
I waited half an hour until nightfall.
Then I threw a cloak around my shoulders and marched downstairs to the lobby and out into the street. My rented Porsche was parked at the curb. Its attendant was waiting for me. He bowed and accepted the thirty shilling tip I handed him.
I slipped behind the wheel, ran my eyes over the instrument panel for a few seconds, and took off. I drove to the Universitas Strasse and headed for the Danube. David had briefed me on the location of the hunting lodge—it had belonged to a Hapsburg prince a long time ago—and how best to get to it.
It was a pleasant drive. Soft golden lights lit the narrow road along the peaceful sweep of the Danube. Visions of Johann Strauss danced in my head, and the wind in the treetops seemed to carry the tunes of his waltzes. The moon was almost full. Stars twinkled, and were reflected in the Danube.
My journey was too short. Within the hour I saw the stone and wood hunting lodge, set close to a bluff that overlooked the river. Its narrow windows were golden with light. I braked the Porsche and pulled over onto the grass. It seemed like something out of a fairy-tale
I sighed. Enough dreaming. Reality intruded and I yanked off my mini-dress, body ornament, and beads. This left me in black nylon body-stocking, a very effective disguise at night. I strapped around it a broad, black leather belt that held a holster and two compartments, as well as a hook or two.
I slid the Belgian Bulldog into the holster and attached the can of Mace to one of the belt-hooks. Then I began the long walk toward the building where Astral Alex was staying.
Naturally, I’d parked the car out of sight, far away. I had to make up for it by trekking to a hedge that grew like a fence around the place. I crouched beside a tree, worried about watch dogs.
If the Russians had a couple of wolf hounds here, I was done for. Their sharp noses would scent me out and—
My hands went to the lowest branch. I swung up and crawled along the trunk, a handhold here and a toe-held there. Finally, I was a few feet over the hedge-top. I crawled along a thick branch until I was above the lawn. The lodge was five hundred feet away.
Dogs? I would know in a moment.
I jumped down onto the grass. I waited, holding my breath. No barking came to trouble my ears. I breathed again and started toward the building. I was part of the darkness in the body nylon. If anybody saw me, I would look like a shadow; a moving shadow.
I ran with the Mace in my hand. If anybody yelled I hoped to be on top of him before he might sound a second alarm. But nobody made any noise except me. I came at last to a stone arch and an oaken door.
When I got my wind back, I asked myself how in hell I was going to get inside the place. It was like a fortress. The door was bolted on the inside, and all my skills as a locksmith and safe-cracker were not going to do me one bit of good. On either side of the doorway were leaded glass panes. The glass was too thick to see through. Even if I bent the lead and extracted a pane I still could not reach the bolt.
I had learned the location of the bolt by running a strip of celluloid down the tiny crack between the door and the jamb. It was far enough below the leaded panes to prevent my pulling back the bolt.
So I tiptoed around the lodge, hoping for some other way in. The lower half of the lodge was of stone, with narrow windows—barred, yet—through which a rifle might be poked to fire at intruders. There was a back door as well, but there was a metal grille between the outer wall and the door itself.
I returned to the entrance.
Very carefully I ran my celluloid strip up and down. There were two bolts, I discovered, as well as the lock-bolt itself. The sliding bolts were set above and below the regular lock.
I leaned my head against the door and sighed. It was quite an obstacle. There were no trees on which to climb to reach the second floor. I’d checked that as I’d made my tour of the lodge. Either I entered this way or not at all.
My hand fumbled at my belt where a knife hung. I pried apart the leading of a glass pane, forced out the glass with my fingernails. I broke a fingernail and said a few naughty words. I may be a secret agent, but I am first and foremost a girl, and I always like to be at my most attractive.
I took off my belt and doubled it up, removing my holster. I wedged the belt through the diamond-shaped opening. I paused to breathe. I took a quick look down the long, wood-paneled hall and saw nobody in sight, although I heard a man laughing and a girl giggling, and the sound of slow, dreamy music.
With my left hand I swung the belt. I swung it three times before its big buckle caught on something. My hand tugged. To my delight, the bolt slid back with a faint click. One down, one to go. I swung the belt again.
After five minutes, I got the second bolt open.
Only the main lock remained. Out came a thin metal strip that I inserted into the key-slot. The lock was an old one, dating back to about the middle of the nineteenth century. Whoever owned the hunting lodge had no reason to install a newer one. This made it easy for me.
The door opened inward. I stepped inside and closed it. My belt was still in my hand. I fastened the holster and settled the revolver snugly. Then I replaced the belt about my middle, glancing around. I studied the rich, dark woodwork of the walls and ceiling, the golden chandelier, and the ornate massive stone fireplace, carved from a single block of stone.
There was a lot of furniture in this great hall that opened into the entrance lobby. Two chairs fronted a chess table on which were set up the various pieces. A smaller table to one side held three cups and a silver coffeepot. Against the white walls, where a number of lighted oil paintings hung, were pushed other chairs and a couple of couches and long tables.
Apparently the great hall had been used to entertain visitors when the Hapsburg prince had been in residence. It was only a memorial to the golden age of kings and emperors; pretty to look at, but not as functional as any ordinary living room. The fire in the hearth died down, and the room was getting a bit chilly. I moved through it on tiptoe.
A girl was giggling above me. I lifted my head and stared at a small wooden railing that formed part of a gallery overlooking the great hall. Beneath it, a staircase of the same dark wood turned at right angles and rose upward. I headed for the staircase. Suddenly I heard—
“Alex, now stop!”
“But I like to do this.”
“And what about me?”
Three voices, two female and one male, all in Russian. Like all L.U.S.T. agents, I know Russian fluently. I moved to the stairs and up the treads.
There were no guards about, that was easy to see. If there were any, they were amusing themselves out of sight and sound. I paused on the landing and fitted a silencer onto the gun muzzle. I didn’t want to annoy anyone with unnecessary noise.
