could compete with him with a hand weapon against his gun.
Silk would have liked to smoke, but that would be a give away. He crossed one leg over the other and relaxed, his ears pricked and his one eye on the half open door.
In the big hall was a splendid grandfather clock. During the steady swing of its pendulum, the lead weight slightly touched the case of the clock, making a distinct and regular noise. After half an hour of listening to this noise, Silk found it was getting on his nerves. He wanted to go out into the hall and stop the dock, but this would be too dangerous. If Girland was somewhere upstairs, he too could hear the scrape... scrape... scrape from the clock, and he would be immediately alerted if the clock was stopped. The clock suddenly struck nine: its soft mellow chimes startling Silk. Later, it startled him again when it struck ten.
Although he imagined he had nerves of steel, he found the two hour wait had made him too tense. Twice during this time, he imagined he had heard another slight sound above the scraping of the pendulum and he had half-risen to his feet. Then satisfied that Girland wasn't creeping down the stairs, he sat back, his hand closing over his pack of cigaretttes, then remembering, had silently cursed. He was now longing for a cigarette. At least during those thirteen hours when he had waited for Adams, he had smoked incessantly.
He began to think of Girland. This man was a trained CIA agent. Silk's thin mouth formed into a wry grimace. His first murder assignment had been against a CIA agent, a man who had collected enough evidence to put Radnitz behind bars and had to be eliminated immediately.(see'Believed Violent')
In those days, Silk had been very sure of himself: too sure. The agent had been almost too quick for him and had shot him in the face. Although he had finally managed to kill the agent, he had to spend six months in hospital and had come out with only one eye.
The experience had left him with a subconscious dread of facing another CIA man. But during his years with Radnitz, his victims had been easy . . . pigeons to be shot down without means, training or guts to protect themselves.
Radnitz had warned him about Girland. As he sat in the chair, he remembered von Goltz's consternation. Are you quite sure you shouldn 't have two or three of my men with you?
Silk touched his forehead with the back of his hand. It infuriated him to find he was sweating.
The grandfather clock in the hall began to strike eleven.
* * *
Girland came down the turret stairs. For three weary, boring hours he had been watching the forest without seeing any of von Goltz's men.
'Gilly . '.. make yourself useful. Go up in the turret and watch the forest. If you see anyone coming back, let me know. I want to talk to Malik.'
He left her and joined Malik in the corridor. 'I think it's time to start something' he said, keeping his voice low. 'You've heard nothing?'
'No'
'We could be wasting time. They may have completely evacuated the place, but I'm not taking chances. The gunman could still be here, waiting. If he's anywhere, he'll be in the main living-room. It's only from the door of that room you have a clear view of the stairs. I want to make sure he is there. I'm going down by the rope.'
Malik shook his head.
'It's too risky. You can't climb down without making some noise. If he hears you, he'll come out onto the terrace and you're a dead duck.' He paused for a moment, then went on, 'How far can you go down the stairs without being seen?'
'To the third floor.'
'Then let's go down. It's time to put pressure on his nerves,' Malik said. I'll go out onto one of the balconies and start tapping on the balcony rail. It's a trick I've used before, and it worked.'
This made sense to Girland. He nodded.
'What do I do?'
'Stay at the head of the stairs. If I spot him come out on the terrace, I'll rap twice quickly. If you move fast you can get down to the second floor before he gets back.'
'Right'
Both men drew their guns and moved down the stairs. Both of them were trained to move like ghosts and they reached the third floor landing without a sound.
While Girland remained by the stair head, Malik moved down the corridor. He spent some moments easing open one of the doors inch by inch until he had enough space to slide into the room. The shutters across the windows presented a problem. Would they creak when he opened them? With infinite patience he.unlatched and opened the shutters. The operation took nearly five minutes but he got them open without a sound. He stepped on to the balcony and saw that the big windows of the main living-room were below and to his right. He lay flat on the balcony where he could peer through the balcony rails, yet squirm back instantly out of sight.
Using the barrel of his gun, he began to tap on the lower rung of the balcony rail. The silence, hanging over the Schloss, accentuated the sound.
He tapped at irregular intervals. Tap-tap-tap. A long pause; then tap-taptap-tap.
Silk heard the sound and stiffened to attention. He looked swiftly behind him as the sound came from that direction.
He came out of his chair like a cat, gun in hand. Standing motionless, listening, he looked what he was: a vicious, professional killer. The tapping sound stopped, and there was silence, except for the scrape-scrape-scrape from the grandfather clock.
A bird? Silk wondered. Water dripping?
He waited, listened, then decided the sound was of no importance. He wiped his sweating face savagely with the back of his hand and again longed for a cigarette.
Minutes dragged by. The pendulum ok the clock continued its soft irritating sound.
Then the tapping began again.
Silk looked out on to the sunlit terrace. A branch of a tree? No. The sound was too metallic for that. The sound was coming from outside. Silk moved to the open french windows.
The tapping continued. Silk was now certain it was coming from the terrace. Someone out there? A trap? He edged closer to the window, paused to look back and through the half open door where he could see the stairs: nothing moved out there.
The tapping stopped, and again silence closed in around Silk. He edged further forward. Nothing happened. He felt a surge of rage run through him, aware that he was jumpy and his nerves were crawling. Then just when he was deciding to return to his chair, the tapping began again.
He remembered von Goltz had assured him that Girland was unarmed. He decided he had to investigate this sound.
Moving like a black shadow, he stepped out on to the terrace, his gun ready.
Malik saw him and tapped twice fast, then squirmed back out of sight.
Girland heard the two quick taps and went down the stairs, fast and silently to the second floor. Now he could see the half open door leading into the living-room and caught a glimpse of the empty chair, pulled near the doorway. He stepped back into the corridor.
Silk looked up at the rows of balconies above him. He saw nothing suspicious. His nerves were now so taut that he became reckless with rage. He stepped right out on to the terrace where he had a good view of the balconies.
Malik grinned and lifted his pistol. It was a difficult shot as the bars of the balcony obstructed his view.
Silk saw the movement although he didn't see the pistol. He fired instantly. The bullet slammed against the concrete just below Malik's head, spraying splinters, one of which hit Malik across the bridge of his nose. He started back, and Silk, now knowing where his opponent was, dashed back into the living-room.
He had had enough of this cat and mouse business. He knew Girland had no gun and he knew he was on the third floor.
He didn't hesitate. Rushing across the hall, he went up the stairs two at the time, not caring about the noise he was making.
In the corridor on the second floor, Girland heard him coming and quickly stepped into a nearby room.
