The Copenhagen Connection Part 16

"I don't blame them. It must weight two hundred pounds. Why are you so pleased about it?"

"There's a loose board. When I put my ear against the crack I could hear what was going on downstairs."

"Anything interesting?"

He sat on the bed and pulled her down beside him. "The room under this one is the kitchen. That seems to be where they spend most of their time. We were right -they are waiting to hear from Margaret."

"Really? What did they say?"

"Schmidt was grousing because they had to sit around here doing nothing. Then the little guy-his name is Radsky, or at least that's what Schmidt called him- Radsky said something like 'She will contact us as soon as she learns her son is missing. She must. She knows what is at stake.' "

" 'Yes,' " Schmidt said, 'but it will take a while before she learns what has happened. We'll be stuck here for at least two or three more days.' "

"Two or three more days!" Elizabeth's spirits sank. "I don't think I could stand that, Christian."

"You won't have to. We'll be out of here tonight." He picked up the pocket knife and went to the window.

ONE OF the screws on the next board had been driven in for keeps. Christian broke his knife blade on it and had to resort to the other, longer blade, which was much thinner. It snapped on the next-to-last screw; the can opener and the bottle opener also succ.u.mbed; but before the sun had soared out of sight above the house, the second board was loose.

"I think it's wide enough," Elizabeth said, staring in disbelief. She hadn't really believed they could do it.

"It's wide enough." Cautiously Christian put his head out. "h.e.l.l and d.a.m.n. Looks like a straight drop to the ground. Not even a handy vine or trellis."

"We could tear up the sheet and blanket and make a rope."

"Good idea. We-oops." He pulled his head in and slapped the boards into place. "Somebody in the yard. Here, hand me the screws."

They got them back just in time. Lunch was early that day. It was also delicious-a cheese omelet with bits of bacon and tomato and a fresh green salad. The menu testified to the inadequacy of the larder as well as the ingenuity of the cook.

Schmidt was unusually taciturn, snapping at them to hurry, then slamming the door without pausing to make provocative comments.

"The delay is getting on his nerves," Christian commented. He stretched out on the bed. "I think I ate too much. This isn't such a bad place; at least the food is first-rate."

"You missed the worst of it. The first two meals were the most G.o.d-awful stew I ever tried to eat. Schmidt was complaining about it too. Somebody else must be doing the cooking."

"Nonetheless we are checking out tonight."

"Do you really think we can make it?"

"Of course." Christian's tone was a little too hearty. "That was a good idea of yours about tearing up the sheet. We had better wait till after dinner, though. They might notice."

"The waiting is going to be hard-almost harder than when I thought there wasn't a chance of escape. I wish there were something we could do to pa.s.s the time."

"I'm going to take a nap," Christian said calmly.

"Oh."

"Any objections? There's nothing we can do right now anyway."

"Why should I object? Sleep tight."

He was asleep in five minutes. Elizabeth looked down at him, her hands on her hips.

"You cold-blooded turkey," she said aloud. Christian smiled faintly and turned on his side.

Elizabeth envied him his ability to sleep. She had had ample opportunity to catch up on her own rest, and anyway she was too nervous. She yearned to look out the window but knew she ought not to take the chance. She did not want to finish Dead Drab in a Ditch. For lack of any other source of entertainment she dropped onto her stomach and wriggled under the bed.

It was like sliding into a heavy paper bag filled with thick, hot, dusty darkness. She found the loose board and pressed her ear to the floor.

At first she heard only a rhythmic slapping sound and an occasional murmur. Then Schmidt exclaimed, "Gin!" and she realized that the villains were whiling away the dull hours by playing cards.

"That makes twenty-two bucks you owe me," Schmidt added in a pleased voice.

"So who cares?" replied a shrill voice that she recognized as Cheryl's. "We'll all be rich when this deal goes through-if you weren't putting me on."

"We'll do all right. But I wish we could wind things up. d.a.m.n that big-nosed old broad! She's really screwed us."

"You are wrong," said a soft, almost apologetic male voice. The man with the trunk and the blackjack, Elizabeth thought-Radsky. For a man so violent he sounded incredibly demure and meek.

Radsky went on, "It is not Margaret Rosenberg who is to blame but another-Eric's stupid, cowardly brother."

"He's crazy," Cheryl said. "I mean, he is really a moron, if you know what I mean."

"You mean he is mentally r.e.t.a.r.ded," Radsky said. "I agree with your a.s.sessment, if not with your wording. Wolf has the intelligence of a six-year-old child."

"We shouldn't have let him in on this," Schmidt grumbled.

"We had no choice," Radsky said. "In view of the fact that he and Eric were the ones who got in touch with us. It was then a fait accompli."

"Well, but you were the one who scared him."

Schmidt seemed determined to blame everyone he could. "He was all right till you started waving that knife around and telling him stories about your career."

"I had to amuse myself somehow." The little man's voice was chillingly indifferent. "He was such an appreciative audience, with his gaping mouth and his frightened eyes. Who could know that a great hulk like that would be so chicken-hearted? I could not predict he would run away."

"And contact Margaret Rosenberg. I'm surprised he had the intelligence to find her address and write it on an envelope."

"What if he's already told her where it is?" Cheryl asked.

There followed a brief silence fraught with uneasiness.

"What if he has?" Schmidt asked finally. "Once she learns we are holding her son, she won't dare-"

"But she doesn't know." Cheryl's voice rose shrilly. "I don't like this, Joe. And I don't trust that dumb ox Eric."

"He's in this as deep as we are," Schmidt said.

"No, he's not. He hasn't got a record like . . . well, like some of us. And he's goofy about his dumb brother. If he knew what you're planning to do-"

A sharp slapping sound interrupted this speech. Cheryl yelped.

"Shut up," Schmidt snapped. "He doesn't know, and he won't, if you watch your mouth."

"All right, Joe. All right. I never said nothing to him."

"Just see that you don't. Oh, h.e.l.l, let's play another game. There's nothing else to do."

The slap of cards resumed.

Feeling herself on the brink of a gigantic sneeze, Elizabeth backed out of her hiding place. Christian was still asleep. She was tempted to wake him up and tell him what she had heard, but his peaceful face disarmed her, and for fear of disturbing him she settled down on the floor, her back against the side of the bed.

The conversation had confirmed a number of their theories but had not contributed much in the way of new or useful information. The silent Eric might not be a genuine member of the gang, but he was too deeply involved to be counted on for help.

Christian's suspicions about Margaret had been well founded. She had learned of-whatever it was (Margaret's bathrobe? Absurd.)-by means of a letter from Eric's brother Wolf; and Wolf could be none other than the very large person in the knitted cap who had been running on and off the stage like a character in a Pinter play. Was that why Margaret had been rambling around in what had seemed an equally aimless fas.h.i.+on? If her unfortunate informant was slow-witted, with a child's mind lodged in his ma.s.sive body, some of his peculiar behavior was explicable. At least he had sense enough to be afraid. Perhaps he was now the only person in the world who knew the location of the mysterious object they all wanted so badly. Either he was the one who had found it in the first place, or he had taken it with him when he ran away.

As the afternoon wore on and Christian slept like a man with not a worry in the world, Elizabeth returned again and again to her listening post under the bed. The first time only silence rewarded her. Apparently her captors had left the room. Half an hour later she tried again. Still silence; she was about to withdraw when she heard a door open, and Schmidt said irritably, "Nothing yet?"

"No," was the calm reply from Radsky.

"d.a.m.n. Maybe one of us ought to go to Copenhagen."

"We were told to stay here and await news."

"Who the h.e.l.l does he think he is, giving orders? You and I were doing okay till he b.u.t.ted in."

"He can be a valuable addition," Radsky said in the same cool voice. "And in this case he is right. We have two chances to get what we want. If Margaret Rosenberg has obtained the information from Wolf, she will give it to us in exchange for our prisoners. Our message is waiting for her at the hotel; it is the logical place for her to seek news. As for Wolf-our attempt to catch him did nothing but frighten the idiot into mindless flight. If we keep out of sight and leave him alone, he may be simple-minded enough to come home."

"A nice, neat summary," Schmidt sneered.

Elizabeth had to agree with him. Christian had been correct in his a.s.sessment of the gang's strength. There were only five of them, including the unknown "he" who was watching developments in Copenhagen.

Cheryl was the next to enter. "G.o.d, I'm bored," she announced. "How much longer do we have to stay in this hole?"

"Till the job is finished," Radsky replied. "Find something to do and stop complaining."

"There isn't anything to do. I can't go outside, and even that boring television doesn't come on till night. What a country-not even decent TV."

"Have a beer," Schmidt said. Apparently he and Cheryl had made up their differences; his tone was conciliatory.

"The beer's all gone. We're practically out of food, too. Why can't Eric go to the store?"

"I do not feel it would be wise to let Eric go off alone,"

Radsky said. "I am not completely convinced of his loyalty."

"Loyalty!" Cheryl laughed shrilly. "That's a good one. I wouldn't trust your loyalty to me and Joe if we stopped being useful to you." Radsky did not reply to this statement, and after a moment Cheryl went on sullenly, "When's dinner? That's the only thing to do around here -eat. If there's anything to cook."

"Well, go get the old lady and tell her we want to eat," Schmidt said. "Where is she anyhow?"

"Scrounging around in the garden. Maybe she can find some food. Looks like a lot of weeds to me."

"d.a.m.n it, she wasn't supposed to go outside!"

"She is too feeble of mind and body to const.i.tute a danger," Radsky said. "Besides, she is a regular member of the household, and normalcy is the impression we wish to create. If I had been here when Eric sent her away, I would have told you that was a mistake."

"Anyway, she came back," Schmidt said. "A good thing, too. If I'd had to eat any more of his cooking, I'd have choked." A chair sc.r.a.ped across the floor, and footsteps crossed the room. "Yeah, there she is," Schmidt said. "G.o.d, what a picture-she looks like a witch, collecting her poisonous plants. Hey, old lady-yes, you. Get in here. Time for chow."

"For G.o.d's sake, Joe, she barely understands her own language, let alone English," Cheryl exclaimed. "I'll go get her."

"Don't leave the doorway," Radsky cautioned.

The bedsprings over Elizabeth's head creaked, and she slithered out. Christian was sitting up, his eyes wild as he surveyed the empty room.

"Oh, there you are," he said, as she emerged, dusty and perspiring. "Hear anything interesting?"

"Interesting but not useful." Elizabeth repeated the conversation.

Christian's first reaction was to crow about his superior insight. "I told you that letter was important. I told you Margaret had ulterior motives in coming to Denmark. I told you-"

"You told me a lot of things, most of them wrong. n.o.body took a shot at you. They were shooting at Wolf that time at the Cathedral."

"Maybe so. I'm surprised they would risk killing him, though. If your ideas are right, he's the only source of the information they want."

"I suppose they were getting exasperated," Elizabeth said. "Schmidt doesn't seem to be the world's most patient man. Besides, one bullet wouldn't kill Wolf, it would just slow him down a little-and I don't know of anything else that would."

Christian dismissed this calloused a.s.sessment with a shrug. "So Eric is having second thoughts, is he? I wonder if we could make use of that."

"You mean try to win him over to our side instead of climbing out the window? After all that work?"

"It isn't the safest exit in the world. We'll be pretty vulnerable dangling from a rope. How are you at rope climbing?"

"I've never tried it."

"I could lower you." Christian pondered. "But I had planned to be the first one down. And if something happened and one of us got busted up, we'd be in trouble."

"So what are you suggesting? There are three of them here, even without Eric."

"There are two of us."

"Gee, thanks. I guess I could handle Cheryl-if she didn't shoot me first."

"We have a knife."

"Both the blades are broken."