Passport To Peril

“Did he tell you where they’re meeting?”

“Of course not,” Hiram said, “and I didn’t bother to ask him because he would have lied. He’s got to see Schmidt. Their only chance is to kill all four of us, now. Borodin’s smart enough to know what would happen to him if Lavrentiev learns his connection with the German.”

“So you calmly let him go free in the middle of Budapest,” I said.

“I’ve got a man following him,” Hiram said. “Why do you think I went into the Belvarosi?”

I still wasn’t convinced. If Borodin was an instructor in security, he’d certainly be suspicious. And know how to duck Hiram’s operative in short order. Our only chance to find Maria was through Dr. Schmidt. And Borodin was our only link with the German.

We hadn’t been at Hiram’s house fifteen minutes when the operative telephoned to say he’d lost Borodin. The Russian had pulled the ancient trick of boarding a crowded bus, getting on first because of his uniform, then ducking out the side door when the bus was about to start and Hiram’s man was helplessly jammed inside.

“You said Schmidt and Borodin will figure they have to kill all four of us to keep us quiet,” I said to Hiram. “What do we do? Wait around like sitting ducks? I don’t see how we can find them now. We never should have let Borodin out of our sight.”

“We haven’t time to wait,” Hiram said. “Come over to the window.”

He drew aside the curtain. There were two men against the building across the street.

“We’ve had too much luck so far.” I couldn’t help laughing, but he ignored it. “It can’t last much longer. We’ve only a few hours left. We’ve got to find Marcel Blaye’s envelope and get the hell out of Hungary.”

“What about Maria Torres?”

Hiram put his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but there’s nothing we can do. There isn’t time. Schmidt knows where the envelope is. If you guessed by questioning Orlovska, the Russians can put two and two together and get the answer if they have time. We’ve got to move, John. We’ve got to get that envelope tonight.”

“I’m not going to leave Maria,” I said. “I can’t do it. I went after Orlovska because you promised we’d find Maria. I took two hours of hell from Schmidt. I got you the answer you wanted. I found out where the envelope is. You haven’t the right to let me down now.”

“You’re in love aren’t you, John?”

“Of course I am,” I said.

“How do you know Maria Torres didn’t leave willingly with Schmidt? How do you know what her game is?”

“I know she didn’t go of her own accord. There isn’t any way for me to prove it. But I’m not going to leave her.”

Hiram said, “But, John, I told you what possession of that Manila envelope means to Russia or the United States. It could mean the difference between war and peace. I’m an official of the United States Government, John. I haven’t the right to risk the success of my mission for any individual. Believe me, I’m terribly sorry.”

After a long pause, I said, “What can we do about the envelope? Jozsefvaros station must be crawling with armed Russians. We can’t take over the way you did in Borodin’s house. What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know,” Hiram said. “All I know is that we’ve got to act in a hurry.”

He took a large-scale map of Budapest from his desk and spread it on the floor.

“I’d suggest you get some rest. I’ll ask Teensy to change those bandages on your hands.”

When I left the room Hiram was down on all fours studying the map.

I went upstairs to the room I’d occupied briefly the night before and stretched out on the bed. I tried to sleep but there was nothing doing. Each time I closed my eyes I saw Maria’s face.

I had come to Hungary to discover what had happened to my brother. I knew the answer. If I managed to stay alive a few more hours, I was due to leave without knowing what had happened to the girl I loved.

It seemed incredible Maria and I had been together only twenty-four hours, that little more than twice that time had passed since I boarded the Orient Express at the Westbahnhof in Vienna.

I remembered how Maria had looked the last time I had seen her. She’d turned to wave as she reached the door of the coffeehouse. Then Schmidt had opened the door as Otto, Hermann, and I were rounding the corner into the driving snow, and we heard the sobbing of the gypsy violins:

There’s a Romany tale that up in the moon,

Each midnight a gypsy is playing a tune.

The melodies sweet from his fiddle that flow,

Are heard only by lovers as silent they go.

Then, my love, let us try while the moonlight is clear,

Amid the dark forest that fiddle to hear.

I recalled how my heart beat faster when I went back to the coffeehouse with Hiram and Teensy, how happy I’d been when we found Schmidt’s car was still in front. For five minutes, until the Carrs came out, that had meant reunion with Maria.

Teensy had broken the news. She’d said, “I’m afraid there’s a hitch. Your girl isn’t there. The proprietor said she and Schmidt left an hour ago.”

How had the German doctor forced Maria to leave the coffeehouse? She’d told me, “Hurry back, I’ll be waiting.” I would never believe she went of her own free will. On the other hand, he wouldn’t have risked threatening her with a gun in that crowded place.

And why had he abandoned his car? Not to mislead us. He hadn’t known I was coming back. Just the opposite. He was sure Otto and Hermann would follow his instructions to kill me in the Keleti yards after I found the envelope.

The doctor might have left his car if he’d held up the coffeehouse, if he’d forced the proprietor and the patrons to stand by while he took Maria away at gun point. He wouldn’t have trusted the car to start immediately with a crowd pursuing him. It would be easier to shake them off by heading into the storm.

But if that had been the case, Schmidt wouldn’t have come back for the car. The proprietor would have called the police, who would have taken it. Yet Schmidt or one of his men had returned for it, or at least I assumed that was the car whose tires Hiram had slashed when they rescued me from Orlovska’s.

The proprietor had told Teensy and Hiram that the German and Maria departed shortly after I had gone to the yards, nearly an hour before my return. He hadn’t said anything about Schmidt using force. And that would have been a major event in the life of a coffeehouse keeper.

None of these hypotheses made sense. There had to be another answer.

I’d told Teensy when she broke the news, “You didn’t look far enough. The proprietor’s a liar.”

The next thing I realized, I was going down the stairs two steps at a time. I nearly broke down the door into Hiram’s study.

“The proprietor was a liar,” I shouted at the startled Hiram. “That’s the answer. Can’t you see?”

The intelligence agent looked at me as if he thought I’d lost my mind. He scrambled to his feet. Teensy came running from the other room.

“Take it easy, take it easy,” Teensy said.

“Easy nothing,” I said. “That’s the answer. Schmidt never took Maria out of the coffeehouse. His car was still there because he was still there. Don’t you see it?”

Hiram fixed me a Scotch and soda.

“We’ve been so busy we haven’t had time to think,” I said. I took half the drink at one gulp. I told Hiram and Teensy what had been running through my mind before I leaped from the bed like a jack-in-the-box.

“Schmidt wouldn’t have waited in just any coffeehouse,” I said. “He’s in just as much trouble with the authorities as we are. He has to be even more careful because he hasn’t diplomatic plates on his car. He wouldn’t have picked the coffeehouse he did unless he had good reason. Ordinarily, he would have been afraid of being recognized by the train crews who go there. They would certainly have remembered a beauty like Maria.

“The doctor went there for only one reason. Because the proprietor was a member of the gang. Because he could be trusted to lie to anyone asking questions.

“Maria is still there. I’ll stake my life on it.”

“You’re going to,” Hiram said. He took off his pincenez and rubbed his nose. “What was it Schmidt said on the