Max’s eyes wandered in my direction. I waved a casual hand. ‘Count me out, Max. I’m no archaeologist. I wouldn’t know a proton whatchamacallit from a toaster.’
‘Also,’ Georg went on, ‘in such a stony soil, and an area of heavy rainfall . . .’
Max gritted his teeth. ‘How long would such a survey take, with these instruments?’
‘Hmmm.’ Georg fondled his beard. ‘We would need a source of electricity, naturally. The probes of the resistivity meter should be placed no more than one metre apart – ’
A bleat of fury came from Max. ‘One metre? Do you know the size of this field?’
‘About three acres, I would suppose,’ was the calm reply.
‘We dig,’ Max said shortly. ‘All of us.’
‘Very well,’ Georg said. ‘First we must mow the field.’
It would take too long and serve no useful purpose to report Max’s comments. Eventually one of the men was sent to the house to fetch scythes, and the work began.
Leif wandered off, perhaps fearing that Max would put him to work. He needn’t have worried; Max wasn’t naive enough to put a large cutting instrument into Leif’s hands. He missed a treat. Watching those inept goons trying to cut grass made my morning. Nobody got decapitated, but Pierre almost lost his left foot to a wild swipe from Hans.
When the slapstick palled, I got up and strolled around, giving the mowers a wide berth. To the northwest, almost hidden by the trees, I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be the roof of a building. When I sauntered to that side of the pasture, a sharp command from Max sent one of the boys after me, waving his gun. So I went back to my rock.
Towards midday John appeared, picking a delicate path through the weeds. His attire was country-casual: old tweeds, a cashmere sweater, and a tie with the insignia of some institution – possibly Sing-Sing or Wormwood Scrubbs.
After a leisurely survey of the proceedings he joined me on my rock, dusting off the surface with an immaculate handkerchief before planting his tailored bottom on it.
I rose ostentatiously, and he said, ‘Now, now, this is no time for petty spite. We ought to have a little chat about . . .’ Max trotted towards us and John went on, without a change of tone, ‘. . . lunch. Who’s in charge of the kitchen?’
‘A good question,’ Max said.
‘I suppose you all expect me to do it,’ I grumbled.
‘You object?’ Max inquired.
‘Of course I object. But I guess I haven’t much choice.’
Before Max could comment, John said quickly, ‘I wouldn’t advise it, Max. When a liberated woman offers to take on a chore that violates her precious principles, she always has an ulterior motive.’
‘I do not underrate Dr Bliss’s intelligence,’ Max said. ‘We can subsist on cold meats and cheese for a few days.’
He gave me a patronizing smile. I said, addressing the air six inches above John’s head, ‘You lousy fink.’
‘It was a rather ingenuous attempt,’ John said. ‘Max is not ingenuous.’
‘No,’ Max agreed. ‘Nor am I stupid enough to permit the two of you to confer privately. Smythe, since you are so concerned about your stomach, I will put you in charge. Bring the food here. We will have a luncheon al fresco – a picnic, as you would say.’
‘What makes you think he won’t poison you?’ I asked. ‘His motive is more pressing than mine.’
‘I am glad you realize that.’ Max bowed. ‘He will not poison the food because Pierre will watch every move he makes. Nothing elaborate, Smythe – bread, cheese, ham, beer. And don’t forget a bottle opener.’
Pierre was happy to be reassigned. His cohorts looked at him enviously as they mopped their dripping faces. Grass speckled them like green freckles. Hans complained that he was getting a blister on his thumb.
I might have known John would make a production out of the simple task. He and Pierre came back loaded with baskets and boxes, not to mention cushions and rugs and other luxuries. Among the latter was a stringed instrument of some variety – it looked like a cross between a lute and a guitar – that John had slung over his shoulder by its elaborately woven strap. Max’s eyebrows rose when he saw this device, but he did not comment.
It was – to put it mildly – an unusual kind of picnic. Sprawled on the rough ground munching sandwiches, we were not exactly your normal little gathering of friends. The assorted artillery struck a particularly inappropriate note. Max was the only one of the gang who wasn’t visibly armed to the teeth, but when he leaned forward to reach for a beer I saw the butt of an automatic under his coat. Other than that he didn’t look out of place. It was only my awareness of what he really was that gave his face a sinister cast. Before I knew his identity I had thought him inoffensive and harmless-looking.
The same could not be said of the others. Except for Hans, whose blunt features had the deceptive innocence of vacuity, the faces bore the same stamp of evil. There were six of them – Max and Hans and Pierre, a sandy- haired character who spoke German with a thick Austrian accent, another Frenchman, and a dapper little man with the coldest eyes I have ever seen. His name was Rudi, and he appeared to be an eastern European, country unknown but probably glad to be rid of Rudi. The (presumed) Italian guarding the barn made seven, but I couldn’t be sure that was the complete contingent.
After lunch Pierre took the empty bottles back to the house and the dig began in earnest. John reclined on his cushions like a sultan watching the serfs at work and strummed his guitar. I knew he played the piano with considerable skill, but I had not realized his musical talents were so diversified. He sang one folk song after another, in a dozen different languages; from time to time he switched to a piercing falsetto. If I hadn’t been so furious with him, I’d have enjoyed the game. It reduced poor old Max to the brink of hysteria. Every time he looked at John resting and crooning, he got a shade redder.
Leif, who had returned when the food appeared, sat like a monolith, hands on his bent knees, eyes fixed on his brother. Georg had found some stakes and string and was setting up a grid system, like any normal archaeologist preparing a normal excavation. There was something terrifying about his intense absorption. It was as if he were living in a world totally removed from the realm the rest of us inhabited – a world of crime and kidnappmg and mass murder.
The crooks dug. Max clung stubbornly to his metal detector; whenever he located something the gang flew into action. By late afternoon they had dug up a horseshoe, a rusty axe blade, and seven tin cans. John was asleep, his lute across his knees; Leif was still brooding; and I was bored to screaming point.
‘I’m halfway tempted to help dig,’ I said to Leif.
‘What? ‘ He turned drowsy eyes towards me. ‘Wake up, dammit. We’ve got to do something; we can’t just sit here.’
‘What?’ It was a different kind of ‘what.’ At least he was paying attention.
‘Well . . . plan. Have you had any new ideas?’
‘The old man is not in the house,’ Leif said. ‘There was a shortwave radio. It is smashed.’
‘I think I know where Gus is being held. Look over there.’
Leif caught my hand as I raised it to point. ‘He will hear you,’ he muttered, nodding at John.
‘He’s asleep.’
‘He is not.’
John opened one eye. ‘If either of you has a useful idea, I wish you’d let me in on it. No one can possibly be more interested than I in finding a way out of this.’
‘Cheer up,’ I said heartlessly. ‘Max and the boys will be too tired to torture you tonight.’
‘They are torturing him now,’ Leif said, in a tone as flat and hard as the rock against which he leaned. ‘Waiting for the inevitable is the most painful torment of all. Never knowing at what moment the executioner’s sword will descend . . .’ He made a graphic, shocking gesture, drawing his hand across his throat and opening his mouth in a silent scream.
Seeing my expression, he smiled apologetically. ‘I ask your pardon. I do not care for this man. If I were not civilized, I would help Max to kill him.’
‘But you are civilized,’ I pointed out. ‘We may as well join forces, since we’re all in the same boat. Keeping in mind,’ and I turned a critical eye towards John, ‘that we can’t trust the dirty dog an inch unless his self-interest is involved.’
