Delicate Ape (20 page)

No one moved.

He shrugged. “Well, Morgen, how much was I bid for Secretary Anstruther’s papers? I have them, you know. You’ve known that all along, haven’t you? Ever since the Arab who switched the dispatch cases reported to you. I’m afraid I broke his wrist. But so stupid for him to tell me it wasn’t Anstruther’s case when I could see the initials—three faded gold initials, Ulysses Samuel Anstruther. You know for what that stands? The next man you hire should be warned to respect those initials.”

Bianca breathed, “You killed my father.”

He paid no attention to her incoherency. Her reason had been corrupted by von Eynar. “Was my price met, Morgen? Or did they attempt to cut it. A directorship in German Airways, Inc.? I’m certain Brecklein wouldn’t hesitate to offer that. Particularly since an accident so easily can occur in the line of duty. A million gold? Schern would think of that; he has always believed money could buy any man. After the man is corrupted, it is simple enough to get back the gold. What did Hugo offer? But of course. He has only one thing of value to offer—you.”

“You are insufferable,” Hugo said.

“Did you agree to offer Morgen? I’ll admit that is beyond value. And tempting. Easy enough to get her back, too. You need only to kill me and beckon.”

Gordon’s face was mottled.

“The trouble is I don’t want any substitutes. Not even you, Morgen.” Only with his blood and nerves and sinews. “Would you like to hear what it is I want, Gordon?”

“I don’t know why we put up with this,” Hugo said.

Piers knew then that he was armed. The flex of his right hand, the threat on his mouth. Gordon wasn’t. But Gordon was taunted beyond reason. His speech was thick. “I don’t care what you want.”

Morgen commanded, “Let him speak.” The men were held in check. “Tell them what it is you asked.”

He smiled at her. “It isn’t much, is it, my dear?” He moved his eyes to Gordon. “I want Gordon’s head. I want to ruin Gordon.”

Bianca cried out, “That’s why you killed my father! Because you wanted to be Secretary.”

He said gently, “But I didn’t kill him, Bianca. The man who killed him was a friend of Hugo’s. They were in the Luftwaffe together.”

Bianca cried, “Stop him, Hugo.”

Hugo spoke with impatience. “Be quiet, Bibi. What do his lies matter? I haven’t seen Gundar in twelve years.”

“You understand? Hugo names him, not I. Your father was shot in the back, Bianca, by Hugo’s friend.” He watched the horror eating her away. He said with tight throat, “I didn’t want you to know, not this way. But it’s the least I can do for a man I loved. Protect the thing he loved best. I wouldn’t want to see you after a year with Hugo.”

Bianca faded into the chair. She put her head on her arms. No one paid any attention to her. Morgen was on her feet now. The men started forward.

Piers said sharply, “Don’t come any nearer. You don’t want to harm me, not until you have the papers. Even if I am gone, they still can speak.”

Morgen demanded, “What happened to the Secretary? You know?”

“That’s the one thing has kept you from killing me, isn’t it? Your fear that the Secretary might return. Because Gundar Abersohn never came back with his report. He couldn’t come back, you see. He’s dead too. It’s strange you didn’t find the graves.”

Hugo said, “There were no graves. Only the wreckage of a plane. But no humans had perished in the fire.”

He didn’t understand. The jackals … His jaw trembled. “I didn’t come to remember what is past. I came to see if my price is to be met. Where is Schern? We must finish this now. Cassidy might catch up with me before tomorrow.”

Morgen and Hugo moved together. He knew what their eyes said. He shook his head. “No, it isn’t safe to eliminate me even now, now that you know Anstruther is dead. Because I’ve another card up my sleeve. I have your letters, Hugo. The ones concerning the border incidents.”

He watched the import of it strike them.

“It wouldn’t be wise to eliminate me until you have them, would it? It would be embarrassing for your cause if they turned up tomorrow over my dead body.” He smiled. “I’ll be more generous than you would be. I’ll give up the Anstruther memoranda and the letters in exchange for Gordon’s head.”

Gordon’s head was moving from side to side as if the thread-hung Damoclean sword glittered above it.

Hugo said, “We must talk with Schern. He’s in Washington.”

“There isn’t much time,” Piers reminded him. “Only tonight. Tomorrow—if I read in the papers tomorrow that by Presidential order I am to preside at the Conclave until Secretary Anstruther arrives, you will receive both sets of papers.”

“Do you think we’d trust you?” Morgen stood motionless.

“No more than I trust you. I won’t give you my hand on the bargain. I prefer you where you are. But when I read that notice, I will allow Morgen to carry to you the papers. Come, Morgen.”

Her eyes widened.

“You didn’t think I’d leave without a hostage? Morgen goes with me.”

Gordon broke out of numbness. “No!”

“If there’s any difficulty,” Piers continued easily, “she will die. Neither of you gentlemen wishes harm to come to Morgen. That is why I take her. You didn’t know, Gordon, that she isn’t Hugo’s sister? Once she was his wife. Until he learned she was of more value not. Naturally you haven’t been told. I doubt even that Schern knows. I learned by accident—years ago.” His eyes warned. “I would advise you to allow us to leave in peace. Peace.” The laughter died in his mouth. “Do you remember when we believed that we could hold the world in peace? Tomorrow by high noon I must know. Morgen—”

She had started to an inner door. “My wrap—”

“No. I don’t trust you out of sight, my darling. The night will keep you warm.”

“Don’t go with him, Morn.” Gordon tried to catch her arm. “There’s no reason for it. He can’t hurt me. We can handle him. We have all the powers of my government behind me.”

“You don’t have the papers,” Piers said softly. “You don’t have the word that will keep Germany under protectorate for fifty years.”

“It isn’t important.” Gordon held her. “He can’t do anything. He isn’t Anstruther.”

“You don’t have the letters that will put Hugo in the International Court.”

Hugo spoke coldly, “Go, Morgen.”

Gordon said, “You mustn’t!” while she moved, her gallant head high, with her mouth smiling, her eyes cloaked in silence. She went to Piers and she said, “I am ready.”

He opened the door, still watching the others. He smiled. “Don’t send after me. I’d hate any harm to come to Morgen. I, too, have loved her.”

Morgen asked, “Where are we going?” The wind blew in her hair and across her uncovered shoulders.

“I don’t know.” Only now when they were on the street, walking without direction, did he know fear again. It had been a foolhardy adventure, no more, for of what use was a deed for a man who was dead, who could never know? The girl wasn’t worth it. “I don’t know where to go.”

“You’re not safe on the street,” she said.

“I’m not safe anywhere. They’re after me, all of them.” He had no will to fight at the moment. He was exhausted in spirit and in will. The semi-darkness of Madison was retreat, and the silence of Morgen. But behind them in the darkness the hunters padded, a moon-faced German, a dark bushman. Tonight Cassidy wasn’t standing between him and death.

“Ernst won’t be back from Washington until tomorrow. We can double back. My rooms will be safe.”

His savage laughter was his answer. And they walked on.

She asked, “What was the reason for all that mumbo jumbo at Witt’s?” Scorn was staccato. “You don’t care about that girl.”

“No, I don’t care about that girl.”

“Why walk into danger? Did you believe I’d actually arrange your fantastic meeting?”

“Have I changed that much?”

She searched his face. “No. You’ve changed very little. That’s why I don’t understand how it is you came tonight.”

“You sold me out to Witt.”

“No.”

“To the Commissioner. Why?”

She said, “To get the papers. You knew I would.”

“Did you think Gordon would turn them over to you?”

Her voice was sweet as bells. “He had no choice.”

He caught her shoulders. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you know what I mean? That is his part of the bargain.” Her eyes dared his. He knew what she could mean, Gordon a deliberate traitor, not an addled fool. He also knew her dishonesty. He walked on again.

“I offered you the papers. For a right price. You didn’t need to sell me out.”

She said, “You had no intention ever of giving up the papers to us.”

He said nothing.

“Did you?”

“Not ever,” he told her flatly.

“Why did you pretend? Did you think I would believe you?”

This was the last night. There were but two alternatives for tomorrow, success or failure, peace or war. It didn’t matter what he told her now. It wouldn’t change tomorrow. “I wanted to get at Gordon. There was only one way, through you. The man is armored; he has always been. I never knew there was a weak link until I saw him look at you, that night in my room. I didn’t want a strong Gordon tomorrow. I must be present at the Conclave; I must speak.”

But it had been a mistake to make the final gesture, to take her away from them. He wished to God he hadn’t. It had strengthened them, weakened himself. Fear alone had prompted it, fear that without her he would not leave that room alive. He had believed he could return to his room safely with her as hostage but he had been thinking against time and against force at that moment.

Now his brain had clarified. David must come tonight in answer to his personal; there was only tonight. She couldn’t be in on the meeting with David. Only one thing was important for him tonight, to wait for David, try to get to Fabian. He must be rid of her.

She was silent, only their steps were heard, drum beats, heart beats on the night. And she said suddenly, “I don’t care what they decide. I’ll give you Gordon.”

He waited, “What price now?”

“Those letters Hugo wrote.”

He saw then he couldn’t be rid of her easily; she would remain with him until she had those letters. She knew what was in them. Unless he could escape her. And with all of his knowledge and his hatred, the sickness of jealousy pitted him. He taunted, “Not the Anstruther papers?”

“I don’t care about them now.”

When it came to the final reckoning Hugo alone mattered to her. The schemes of Schern and Brecklein, the Fatherland, all lost importance when Hugo’s self was threatened. Or perhaps it was that she knew that Piers wasn’t going to be allowed to produce the Anstruther memoranda at the conference. She had been wrong once before. It might be that knowledge which made her less sure of the Hugo letters also being obliviated. She couldn’t take the chance because if they were given, they were a death warrant for her lover. And although it started again the internal bleeding, it was because of this quality, this humanness, that he had loved her. Because she too could love, even if it were not he who was loved.

But his mouth was cruel. “And Gordon goes the way of all the others. The Baal Hugo hungers again.”

She kept her face ahead. “Will you trade?”

“Give him to me.”

“First those letters.”

Without halting, he put his hand against the coolness of her hair, turned her head. “Even now, when it is needful you trust, you don’t trust me.”

“No.”

They moved on. He was suddenly harsh. “You know the contents of those letters. You know they would convict Hugo of instigating war. With the implication of connivance in the Secretary’s death.”

She said, “Hugo had nothing to do with the death.”

“It was you?”

“No.” This time her steps halted. “Give me the letters. I’ll give you the plot against Anstruther.”

“Could you?” He laughed down into her face. “Not good enough, my darling. It’s too late. I have myself to think of. I must have Gordon. We’ll wait for tomorrow.”

The shadow of a tree fell across her eyes. One tree by an old brick wall.

He laughed again. “You think I’ll be dead tomorrow.”

She stood there looking up at him.

“Would you grieve, Morgen?” He shook his head. “I should grieve if you were to die. You are too beautiful to die.” He put his hands on her face, pushing away her hair. “Strange that evil can be so beautiful.”

She whispered, “I think you’re mad.”

“No. I’m terribly sane. Only a man as sane as I knows that no price is too great to pay for peace. No one’s death is important for peace. Not yours, not Anstruther’s. Not even Hugo’s. Or mine.”

Her voice was still mute. “Did you take me away to kill me?”

“No, dearest. Your death wouldn’t help peace. If it would, I shouldn’t hesitate. But I must warn you, too many have died through me—without my wish. It isn’t wise that you should be with me tonight.” His eyes held hers. “What is your part to be in the New Germany?”

“I have no part.”

“Only to be behind Hugo. And his part?”

She closed her eyes. The lashes were dark on her shadowed cheeks.

“You might as well tell me.” He taunted, “After all I won’t be here to see it. Will I?”

She opened her eyes then. They were proud. “Hugo is the new leader. The Führer whom every man will follow. No maniacal Austrian this time. Germany triumphant in the new Siegfried.” There was fanatical pride shining out of her face.

He stepped away from her. The enormity of their madness staggered him. The pattern had been used before with such near perfection; it could be consummated. The Germans had hunger for a leader. Hitler had failed them. Hugo wouldn’t.

He said, “No.” The decision of an avenging god must have been in him. She made a sound of fear. “Will you give me Witt Gordon’s head now, Morgen? Not for any scraps of paper. Because with it I can preserve peace. And in preserving peace I preserve Hugo. If tomorrow is the end of peace, he must die.”

Courage was flowing into her. “First the letters.”

“They aren’t in my pockets.” He walked on and she followed. “I carry danger with me but not the dangerous.”

She said, “I’m tired. If you won’t come to my room, why don’t we go to yours?”