Rendezvous With Danger (11 page)

The very familiarity of my own car made me feel safer and I sped purposefully through the deserted streets, past the city gates and on to the main road in the direction of Augsburg.

I drove steadily for an hour, and then it started to rain heavily. Before very long the road was awash with water, the car spraying waves of mud in its wake as I forged on.

I peered through the blurred and streaming glass. It was nearly ten-thirty, and I was beginning to feel the effects of the last twenty-four hours. My original idea of driving through the night to Austria was fading rapidly. I kept on for another half hour, the rain falling hollowly on to the roof of the car, the only other sound the continuous rhythmic swish of the wipers as they flicked back and forth. Anti-climax was setting in and I was cold and very, very tired.

I drove through the rain-lashed streets of Augsburg as the city bells tolled eleven, pulling up outside a small hotel. Wearily I trudged into the brightly-lit entrance hall. The receptionist was pleasant, spoke good English and was able to accommodate me for bed and breakfast without any difficulty. I went back to the car, parked it in the hotel's private car park, well away from sight of anyone passing on the road, picked up my overnight bag and followed the receptionist up several flights of stairs to my room.

I must have looked as weary as I felt for she said sympathetically, ‘Have you travelled far?'

I was about to say ‘no' when I remembered the late hour and nodded. She smiled. ‘ It is very tiring driving all day, no?'

I agreed wholeheartedly as we began to climb another flight of stairs.

‘Your destination, is it Austria?'

I was about to reply non-committally, then said instead: ‘I'm going to Switzerland.'

If
he traced me as far as here, though without psychic powers I didn't see how it was possible, then the determinedly chatty receptionist could put him on the wrong trail. She opened the door of my room.

‘You are very lucky; it is very beautiful there. Beautiful and peaceful.'

I smiled wryly, and after she had wished me good night, I shut the door, locking it securely. Then I began to get ready for bed.

The face that looked back at me from the dressing-table mirror as I removed my make-up was pale and drawn. I put the top back on the jar of cream slowly, studying my reflection. How many days had it been since I had set off carefree and happy for my picnic? Two, three? It seemed another lifetime.

I turned to the bed, noticing for the first time the telephone on the bedside table. I stared at it for a long time, then dialled the number of the hotel at Nordlingen.

‘Herr Cliburn,
bitte.
'

Full of foreboding I waited, each second seeming like an hour. That he wouldn't be there to answer I was certain. All I was ringing for was confirmation of the fact. A disembodied voice said something in German then, miraculously, Gunther's voice, harsh and clipped.

For a few seconds I sat foolishly, unable to speak for the constriction in my throat, overwhelmed by relief.

‘Gunther! You're all right. You're safe. Oh, I'm so
thankful.
'

Tears splashed down my cheeks. I think it was not till then that I admitted to myself how frightened for him I'd been.

‘Susan! Thank God you're safe. Where on earth are you?'

‘Augsburg.'

‘
Augsburg!
' he shouted. ‘Would you mind explaining to me what you are doing there and why you left the hotel in such an extraordinary manner?'

‘But I
had
to. Stephen Maitland came to the hotel. I asked the manager to call the police but he behaved in a most peculiar manner.'

‘According to the manager it was you who behaved in a peculiar manner. There's been no sign of Maitland here tonight.'

‘But I
saw
him.'

Gunther took a deep breath and said patiently, ‘And after you saw him?'

‘Well, you weren't back and the staff weren't helpful, so I left by the back staircase. Gunther, he followed me down that hillside. If it wasn't for the fact that his car was parked at the bottom of the hill and I took it …'

‘You took his car?'

‘I had to. Then I drove to Nordlingen expecting to meet you on the way. When I didn't, and saw that your car was gone I thought …' I faltered. ‘I thought he'd waylaid you.'

‘
Him!
Waylay me!' Gunther's voice was scornful.

‘Well, what else was I to think? I collected my car from the garage, left his in the street, and drove here.'

‘I see,' said Gunther slowly, and I sensed him coming to a decision. ‘And where, exactly, is here?'

I looked at the headed notepaper beside the telephone.

‘The Hotel St Wolfgang.'

‘Susan, listen to me carefully. On
no
account, I repeat on no account are you to leave there until I've seen you. Understand?'

‘Yes, but …'

‘No buts. You stay at the hotel till I come. I'll be there before you have breakfast.'

‘Yes, Gunther, but …'

‘
You … stay … there!
' he shouted down the phone.

‘Yes,' I said meekly. ‘And, Gunther, I'm so glad, so very glad you're all right.'

His voice softened. ‘The agonies I have suffered since I found you gone are indescribable, Susan. I don't want to spend another three hours like the last three ever again. I'll see you in the morning.'

‘Yes. Good night, Gunther.'

‘Good night,
Liebling.
'

Gently I put down the phone and climbed into bed, still hardly able to believe he was safe. I turned off the bedside light, snuggling further down under the blankets. It appeared that Stephen Maitland had never entered the hotel, so that while I had been clambering in the darkness down the hillside, he must have been very near to me. I shivered, the hideous feeling of being hunted still all too real. How had he known where we were? My tired brain struggled to think clearly, then gave up the effort, and I drifted off into a restless sleep.

The bars of sunlight spilling through the shuttered windows woke me early. For a few minutes I lay, cocooned in the luxurious comfort of the soft bed, gazing around the strange room.

Nordlingen? Augsburg? Slowly my befuddled brain began to function and the events of the previous evening flooded back with painful clarity. I groaned and rolled over, burying my head in the pillows. Today I would free myself for good from Stephen Maitland's pursuit. I felt better as I remembered Gunther's promise to be here by breakfast time and groped at the side of my bed for my watch. It was only six o'clock, but all vestiges of sleep had vanished.

I padded over to the shutters, flinging them wide, letting the early morning sunlight fill the room. White clouds hung wispily above, and the air felt fresh and sweet after the previous night's rain. I washed and dressed slowly, enjoying to the full the feeling of safety and security the little-known hotel gave me. There wasn't the remotest possibility of Stephen Maitland, or anyone else, following me here. For once I could relax and stop looking behind me.

I rang for room service, asked for morning coffee and lay back on the bed, propped up comfortably against the many pillows. Then, listening to the early morning street sounds and the pleasant singing of the birds that drifted through the open window, I lit a cigarette, watching the blue smoke spiral to the ceiling, wondering which road south to take when I left after breakfast and whether the purpose of Herr Cliburn's visit was to ask if he could accompany me.

The maid came in with the coffee and a cheery ‘
Guten Morgen.
' I took the tray from her, putting it on the bedside table, and spread out my map of southern Germany on the bed. The first problem, at least, I could solve here and now. The second would have to wait until after breakfast.

The main road south from Augsburg led straight to Oberammergau. That was the road anyone following me would expect me to take, and was the destination the receptionist believed me to be heading for. Intently I searched for more desirable ways of entering Austria. The only real alternative was to head south-east via Munich. I frowned. Normally I always avoided large cities, but normality had vanished days ago. Munich it would have to be.

From downstairs I could hear doors opening and closing, and I went in search of food. Early though it was, I still wasn't the first down to breakfast. A couple of businessmen sat at separate tables and at the large table near the window was a young family, unmistakably French. There were three suntanned children dressed in tee-shirts and shorts, and a curly-headed toddler dressed in hardly anything at all, enjoying a noisy, and for the Continent, hearty breakfast.

I contented myself with freshly baked rolls served with tiny pots of jam and more of the deliciously hot coffee. The middle-aged man at the next table flicked open a morning paper and I peered across, trying to see if the headlines were still about the shooting of Herr Ahlers, but he was reading the business columns. He turned as I looked over his shoulder, freezing me with an austere stare, pointedly moving the paper to the far side of his table.

Suitably chastened, I concentrated on buttering another roll and decided that, after my breakfast, I would stroll down to the nearest newsagent's and buy a selection of the morning's press. A place like Augsburg would probably have English newspapers.

The children scampered to the door, watched disapprovingly by the man on my left. Through the window I could see them being bundled into a shabby Bentley piled high with luggage.

Laughing and chattering they disappeared out of the car park and down the main street.

I smiled to myself as I picked up my shoulder-bag; they, at any rate, had no troubles. With a little luck, my troubles too would soon be over.

I left a message at the reception desk for Gunther in case he arrived before I got back, and followed the sour-faced German businessman down the front steps.

The streets of Augsburg were already alive with early-morning shoppers, and a pavement artist sat working in the shade of a large, sun-dappled oak tree. The enticing smell of newly baked bread filled the air as I passed him with a smile and strolled along in search of a newsagent's. I crossed a cobbled square and beneath the palisade of trees at the far side was a flower stall ablaze with colour, and next to it a street stand creaking with newspapers and glossy magazines.

Hopefully I scanned the titles for an English one but without success. I selected half a dozen dailies at random and began leafing through them as I set off at a slightly brisker pace back to the hotel. If Gunther found me missing when he arrived this morning, he would have every right to be annoyed.

The very first page I looked at had a photograph of the car the two men had abandoned, and though I couldn't understand much of the accompanying newsprint, it appeared that all the papers had the same story to tell. They all contained photographs of the car before it was wrecked, and the inside pages were given over to scenes from the shooting.

I was so intent on trying to decipher the captions beneath the photographs that I did not hear the soft purr of the car approaching. Or, if I did, I paid no attention to it, but kept on walking, head buried in the newspaper.

Without warning a shadow fell across me. Too late then to suspect that danger lurked even in the quiet streets of Augsburg. I opened my mouth to scream, as my arms were wrenched behind me, the sheaf of papers scattering to the ground. Before I could utter a sound, a sickly sweet pad was pressed over my nose and mouth, and like a small child, I fell without a struggle or sound to the enemy.

I was submerged; drowning beneath a great weight; filled with a nameless and unspeakable horror as grotesque shapes marched menacingly through my unconscious mind. Dimly I was aware of movement, the sickening, repetitive sensation of rising and falling and all the time armies without form or face pressed in, suffocating and strangling me.

From a far, immeasurable distance came the sound of distorted voices and the legion of evil that assailed me from all sides slowly receded. I became vaguely aware of light filtering into the dark recesses of my numbed brain and the smell and feel of leather against my face. Hazily I focused on the dark red of the cracked seat on which I lay, struggling vainly to rid myself of the last threads of my nightmare and regain full consciousness. The sickly sweet smell that had pervaded the darkness I had just escaped from hung round me like thick fog. I turned my head, searching for fresh air and tried to raise a hand to wipe my parched lips. Only once more I was aware of a restraining force. As I struggled uselessly to move my immobile arm the last vestiges of unconsciousness were swept away and my mind slowly registered the fact that my hands and feet were firmly bound.

I shook my head, trying to bring into focus the blurred outline of rotting orange peel and half-smoked cigarettes that scattered the floor a mere eighteen inches away. Superimposed on the unrecognizable voices was the familiar sound of changing gears and the rhythmic drone of a car engine. With difficulty I moved my head back, my eyes sliding up over the grey wall in front of me, until they rested on strange heads and shoulders.

Reality engulfed me like a cold sea. I must have cried aloud as I understood at last where I was and what had happened. The man in the passenger seat turned, looking down at me with a smile as I lay like a trussed chickr en, completely helpless, amid the decaying litter, being carried God only knew where.

He leaned towards me, one arm resting on the back of his seat. He looked even more unpleasant close to than when I had last seen him through my binoculars after he had crashed the car. He was heavy-jowled with thick, fleshy features and small eyes that were all but submerged in the surrounding folds of fat as the big, slack mouth widened in an even broader smile.

‘Our passenger is not happy, Harvey,' he said sarcastically, his eyes travelling the length of my bound body. His companion merely grunted.