Part 42 (1/2)

It was not difficult to proceed from that to the logical conclusion that if an elimination order-to keep him from failing into enemy hands-had been issued then, a similar order had doubtless also been issued to cover this circ.u.mstance. He knew now more information that the Germans shouldn't know than he had known when he and Jimmy had flown off to the Belgian Congo.

He wondered where Whittaker was at that moment. In Australia, more than likely, dazzling the Australian women with his good looks and all-pink uniform. Whittaker, he thought, should have been a sailor; he already had a girl in every airport.

Ann came to mind then, and he wallowed for a moment in the memory of the smell of her, and the feel, and the touch of her hand on him, and then he forced Ann from his mind.

And then he got a headache. He was suddenly aware of it, a real b.i.t.c.h of a headache behind his eyes and across the base of his skull. He realized that he had been aware of getting getting a headache for some time. a headache for some time.

”Oh, s.h.i.+t!” he said aloud.

He tried to look at his wrist.w.a.tch to see how long he had been in the trunk. The Hamilton chronometer with the glowing hands was now adorning the wrist of the fis.h.i.+ng boat captain. He couldn't even see the watch he had been given in return, much less tell what time it was.

In that ten seconds, the headache seemed to have grown even worse.

And then he knew why he had a headache.

”Pull over!” Canidy shouted. ”Let me out of here!”

There was no reply. They apparently hadn't heard him. He could hear them talking. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he could hear them.

He tried shouting again, and again there was no response. His voice was being m.u.f.fled, he realized, by the thickly padded leather upholstery in the backseat of the Admiral; and what got through was not audible over the whistling of the wind on the convertible roof and the sound of the engine.

Then there was a momentary wave of terror. He was going to die in this f.u.c.king trunk, be quietly asphyxiated by carbon monoxide from the exhaust. When they got to the Countess's hunting lodge and opened the trunk, they would find him dead.

He thought first of his pistol. If he fired that, they would hear it.

But where was he to fire it? Out the top of the trunk, so there would be a bullet hole for the cops to become fascinated with? Into the trunk floor, where it would pierce the fuel tank?

And what would firing a pistol in the confined area of the trunk do to his ears?

He put both hands to his head and pressed inward as hard as he could against the pain of the carbon-monoxide-induced headache.

And then he twisted around, shoving to the side the goose-down comforter under him. He felt the floor of the trunk. It was covered with some kind of padding. He found the edge, and with a great deal of effort managed to pry the edge loose. Finally, there was enough loose so that he could grip it. He gave a mighty heave and it came loose. Now there was nothing there but sheet metal.

He balled his fist and struck the floor of the trunk with all of his strength. And then did so again, and again, and again.

And finally, he sensed that the Admiral was slowing, and then there was the sound of gravel under the tires. The car stopped, and Canidy heard a door open. And then the trunk opened, just a crack. But the light coming through the two-inch opening was so painful that Canidy closed his eyes against it.

”Are you all right in there?” von Heurten-Mitnitz asked.

”I'm being asphyxiated,” Canidy said. ”Is it clear? Can I get out?”

”Asphyxiated?” von Heurten-Mitnitz asked doubtfully.

”The G.o.dd.a.m.ned m.u.f.fler leaks,” Canidy said.

”Just a moment,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said. From his tone of voice, Canidy knew that he now believed him.

And the trunk opened wide. Canidy heard the sound of the hinges and was aware of more light through his closed eyelids.

”Your lips are blue,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said. ”Here, take my hand.”

Canidy opened his eyes just enough to see the hand, grabbed it, and closed his eyes again. Von Heurten-Mitnitz pulled him out of the trunk and led him to the curbside door.

”Lie on the seat,” he ordered. ”Beatrice, there's a flask in the map box. Give it to him.”

”He's sick?” she asked.

”Exhaust poisoning,” von Heurten-Mitnitz said. He closed the trunk, then got behind the wheel and started off.

Canidy felt something cold and metallic at his lips. He took the flask from the Countess and took a deep pull.

He felt the warmth spread through his body, and then something else.

”I think I'm going to be sick,” he said.

”Oh, please don't,” the Countess Batthyany said practically. ”You never can get that smell out of a car!”

Canidy fought down the urge to vomit and took slow, deep breaths. The desire to vomit pa.s.sed, and he was able after a while to keep his eyes open. He found himself looking into the Countess's face.

”You're getting color back,” she said. ”You'll be all right now.”

There was genuine relief on her face, Canidy saw, and then decided it almost certainly wasn't for him.

There was another queasy feeling in his stomach. He fought it by sitting up, and it pa.s.sed, but there was a wave of sharp pain behind his eyes.

He took another pull at the silver brandy flask and looked out the winds.h.i.+eld. They were all alone on a narrow, curving road cut through a dense forest of mature pines.

”Where are we?” he asked. ”How long was I in the trunk?”

”It's another couple of hours to Pecs,” the Countess said. ”We left Budapest at half past nine. You were back there about two hours.”

”What's next on the road?” Canidy asked. ”Am I going to have to get back in the trunk?”

”We just went through Dunafoldvar,” the Countess said. ”There's a couple of small towns between here and Pecs, Sioagard and Pecsvarad, hardly more than villages. You'll be all right in the back, I think.”

”Do we go through Pecs itself?”

”There's a way around,” she said. ”But it's dirt roads, and there's no telling how muddy they would be this time of year. And we would attract attention.”

”I was wondering whether we could run by the jail,” Canidy said, ”and then trace the route the truck takes moving the prisoners to the mine.”

”We'll take that road anyway,” she said. ”But it would be a detour to go past Saint Gertrud's.”

”A conspicuous detour?” Canidy asked.

She thought that over before replying, ”No. It's on the edge of town. But we wouldn't be more conspicuous there than we're going to be anyway.”