The Bergamese Sect (18 page)

Castro smiled at the wizened man. ‘You’ve done enough already, Signor Lanza.’

‘
But you come here to find Bellini’s painting. I don’t tell you where it is.’

‘
My journey hasn’t been fruitless. You don’t know where the painting is, but you’ve given me something far more useful. You’ve cleared my mind of doubt. Now I know I
must
find that painting. It’s the key to my sanity.’

Lanza’s smile broke into a laugh. He pulled his sleeve back over the hideous burn on his arm. Grabbing his wine glass, he raised it above his head. ‘It seems we both have an obsession with Bellini’s painting,’ he said. ‘Here’s to de Morillo!’

Castro downed the
Chianti
in one.

Chapter 11

‘
Matt? You want a drink?’ Clara was reaching across the compartment with a bottle of water.

Matt’s wandering mind was suddenly brought back to reality. He looked at her, for a brief moment not even recognising her face, then shook his head.

‘
No… thanks,’ he said and turned back to the window.

The train clattered through countryside south of Piotrków. Outside it was growing dark, but the smog of the Vistula Valley was gone and the air was crisp and clear.

The bogies screeched through another set of points as the train rushed by a solitary figure standing by a truck. Matt watched as the man steadied a load of potatoes against the rush of the train’s slipstream.

He turned back into the compartment. It was old and dirty. The seats were worn and in parts were ripped, the foam innards spilling out. The open window couldn’t shift the faint smell of stale tobacco smoke.

There’d been an unhealthy silence since they’d escaped the attack in Warsaw. No one had mentioned Andrzej’s death and the mood had been sombre. They’d boarded the train at the central station, eight thirty that evening. Gerry had driven them around the city, again and again, circling the metropolis like an eyeful buzzard ready to pounce. Then they’d struck for their target, racing through the evening streets, dodging past the trams and pedestrians, screeching to a halt in the car lot outside the station. Grabbing their tickets, they headed for the train just pulling out of platform 15.

‘
Henric?’ It was Clara breaking the silence. ‘Did you crack the message before we left?’

Henric looked nervously at the door to their compartment. ‘No, it’ll have to be run again. I just yanked the damn thing out the wall.’

‘
Can we do it now?’

Henric shook his head. ‘No, it could take ages. I’m not sure how the battery’s doing.’ He pointed at the laptop on Matt’s knee. ‘Besides, I don’t like working in the open. It’s too risky, considering what’s happened.’

‘
We need that information soon, Henric.’

‘
I know, but I think it’ll be safer to wait until we get to Budapest.’

Clara seemed unhappy. She continued to stare at Henric, then glanced at Matt, then back at Henric. ‘I don’t like this. It’s been two days since we rescued Matt, and we still don’t have the information. While it sits on that computer, it’s useless. What if something happens to it?’ She motioned toward the computer with her eyebrows, folded her arms.

‘
Don’t worry,’ Henric answered calmly. ‘There’re two other copies of that disk. We’ll get to it eventually. I thought our priority was to protect Matt?’

They both looked at him, making him feel a bit foolish.

‘
Sure,’ said Clara, ‘that’s our priority.’ She smiled.

There was a noise from outside the compartment and Clara’s smile suddenly vanished. Her head turned toward the door. An old lady wearing a headscarf shuffled past the window, her heavy bags bashing on the wooden walls of the carriage. She glanced sidelong at the four people staring at her, seemed to shrug her shoulders disapprovingly and continued past. Four heads turned away from the corridor.

‘
We’re all feeling a bit nervous, I guess,’ said Clara, looking from face to face.

There was silence for a moment.

‘
Do you think we were seen getting on the train?’ Gerry asked.

‘
I doubt it,’ said Henric. ‘We certainly weren’t followed, that’s for sure. I doubt the police have found Andrzej yet, though I’m sure they’re looking for that woman’s car by now. I’d be surprised if the enemy know where we are, though. They’re probably still driving round Warsaw looking for us.’

Matt butted in. ‘Who exactly is this enemy?’

‘
The same people who tried to get the laptop in London,’ Clara answered.

‘
US agents?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
They didn’t take long to find us in Warsaw, did they? I thought you said we’d be safe there.’

‘
Yes, I thought we’d have at least a few days. But remember, these people are professionals. We probably couldn’t even imagine the means at their disposal. We’ll just have to keep vigilant, keep moving.’

‘
To Budapest?’

‘
Yes. I know someone there who’ll take us in, at least till we get this message unravelled. We’ll be there by eight in the morning. We’ll be fine.’

Ten minutes later the train began to slow, rocking from side to side as it crossed noisily through rusty points. Matt glanced at his watch. 22:39.

‘
This must be Zawiercie,’ said Gerry, straining toward the window.

They pulled in at a long platform, the train jolting violently as the brakes engaged. The calmness of the stationary carriage was striking. Only the odd clank and click from the bogies broke the silence. Several figures passed by the compartment, dragging luggage behind them.

Matt rose, pulling his trousers onto his waist. He stepped out into the corridor, pulled down the creaky window and leant out, his head swaying from side to side, watching the activity along the platform. The small crowd that had left the train quickly dispersed and he saw an elderly man, a black hat on his greying head, helping a woman onto the next carriage. He lifted on her bag, and then joined her, slamming the door shut behind him. No one else joined the train. They remained stationary for another minute then jerked into motion again with a loud clank from the couplings.

Matt watched the platform as they drew away, but didn’t notice two dark figures jumping from the shadows onto the footplate at the rear of the train.

―
§ ―

Jeff Lewis quietly pulled the door closed and glanced expertly over the carriage. In a fraction of a second, he’d assessed his environment, his keen senses able to analyse and respond with breath-taking speed. His vigilant eyes flicked from corner to corner, his hearing blocking out everything outside the car, his nose testing the air. His nerves, his reactions, were themselves an effective weapon.

But nothing in the carriage alerted him to danger. He dropped the primed hand away from the gun in his breast pocket, grabbed the aluminium case on the floor.

It was dim, the only light filtering from the passing platform through a single window. Lewis silently motioned to his colleague. Linsky was at the other end of the carriage in an instant. He cautiously peered through the door, then slid the locking bar through its catch, isolating them from the rest of the train. A string dangled from a rubber roller blind. Linsky drew it down over the window.

The two men crouched in the centre of the post car. It was crammed with grey mailbags and cardboard boxes, a narrow corridor of floor carefully left along its length. Two bicycles were propped up against the wall. At its rear, another door led to the guard’s van.

Lewis released the catch on the aluminium case, lifted the lid and rummaged in a small compartment. He drew out a tiny glass phial filled with transparent fluid.

‘
Let’s deal with the guard, before we get moving,’ he said in a whisper. He darted over to the door, opened it quietly and thrust his head through, just for a moment. Drawing out a white cloth from his jacket, he crushed the capsule into it. He leapt through the door, Linsky close behind.

The guard was unconscious before he’d realised he wasn’t alone. They dragged him to the back of the train, out onto the narrow observation platform. The lights of Zawiercie station were rapidly receding but the train was still moving slowly, the grass embankment dark below them.

‘
On the grass,’ said Lewis. ‘He’ll just get a bruising.’

‘
And the push for being drunk on duty.’

They let the man’s limp body slide off the train, roll into the long grass. The flashing red light clamped to the train reflected off the guard’s bright hazard jacket. The luminous clothing disappeared into the distance.

They returned to the post car where Lewis stashed the aluminium case beneath a pile of mail sacks.

‘
Okay, Steve,’ he said, ‘let’s check it out. I’ll do the length of the train; you check the rest rooms, the exits and the engine. I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes.’

‘
Sure.’

‘
And remember, this is just reconnaissance, keep your head down. Let’s just get a picture of who’s on the train, where they are, who might have a shooter.’

Linsky was nodding.

‘
You got your headset on?’ asked Lewis.

Linsky felt his ear, a flesh-coloured cable the thickness of piano wire curling over the top and into the orifice. Lewis whispered into the lapel of his black jacket and Linsky nodded again. They repeated the test for Lewis’ communication set.

‘
I’m a business man from Cincinnati; who are you?’ said Lewis.

‘
Derek Kopalski, journalist, Philadelphia, doing the Jewish Polski trip. Grandmother was in Birkenau. Nice to meet you.’

Lewis grinned, unlatched the door, and stepped out into the corridor.

―
§ ―

Once the train was safely out of Zawiercie, Matt pulled his head back in, closed the window and returned to his seat, quietly sliding the compartment door shut behind him. He slumped into the seat, blew a mouthful of air into his cheeks, and let it escape in a bored sigh.

Gerry was watching him. He seemed edgy, Matt thought, much more nervous than the other two. Clara was ice cold; he hadn’t seen her break into a sweat or catch a breath, even with gunmen chasing after them in a speeding car. Henric – he was too aloof, too cerebral, to be concerned by anything as trivial as death. But Gerry – he wasn’t coping with the stress like the others. Perhaps it was just down to experience. Or maybe it was just the strength, or rather weakness, of his convictions. A strong belief was enough to make a man fearless. But Gerry wasn’t fearless. Matt had realised Gerry was just a chauffeur; he drove cars, flew aeroplanes, spoke Polish. Perhaps ‘chauffeur’ was a bit harsh. Facilitator. That was the word.

A minute later, footsteps became audible in the corridor. Matt glanced at Gerry. The facilitator was starting to doze, his eyelids rocking up and down uncontrollably. But as the sound grew louder, he suddenly jumped. He sat upright and glared through the glass. A moment later, a man strode purposefully past their compartment.

He was about Matt’s age, tall and very slim. He had jet-black hair, the same colour as his casual jacket. The man didn’t slow as he passed, but Matt sensed his eyes move over them, noting them. A few moments later another man came down the carriage, a few years younger, but he passed by without pausing.

‘
Calm down,’ Clara whispered to Gerry. ‘You’re a bit jumpy.’

‘
Sorry.’ Gerry closed his eyes again and began to doze.

The train had now gathered speed and rumbled through the darkness. Outside, the land seemed more urban, streams of unbroken orange light bathing the black sky. Houses, factories and shops flashed by.

Matt turned back into the carriage. ‘Did Andrzej have a family?’ he asked.

Clara was reading something in her notebook. She looked up slowly. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘
So, he won’t be missed?’

‘
I didn’t say he wouldn’t be missed. He has…,
had
no immediate family, but I’m sure there’ll be a lot of people mourning his death.’

‘
Including you?’

‘
Sure.’ She returned to the notebook.

‘
The other man who was killed. The Rasta in London.’

‘
Todd.’

‘
Did you know him well?’

‘
Actually, we grew up together.’

‘
And you’re mourning him too, right?’

Clara threw the book on the seat beside her and leant toward Matt. She was frowning. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘What are you getting at, Matt? Do you think their deaths don’t bother me? Is that it? That I’m a cold-hearted bitch. That I’m unaffected by my closest friends being murdered by democratically elected governments?’

‘
Well, it’s just that there are two men dead already. Is this really worth it?’ Matt saw a spark of anger in the girl’s face. Her blue eyes flashed. There could be such passion in them. And such coldness.

‘
Nothing’s worth a man’s life, Matt. Nothing. But should I turn away just because I’m under threat? Because others are under threat? That’s just cowardice, isn’t it? History is full of massacres that could have been averted if people had ignored their fear and paid attention to what’s right. Look out the window, Matt. A few miles from where you’re sitting right now, thousands of Jews went to their deaths because of that kind of attitude. Well, I’m not afraid of the so-called democracies of this world. And neither was Todd – nor Andrzej. They knew the risks; they accepted them. Just as I have to accept they’ve been taken from us. Yes, it grieves me, but it also makes me more determined to expose the truth.’

Her outburst over, Clara grabbed for the notebook again, hid her face behind it.