Silhouette in Scarlet - Elizabeth Peters [44]
‘Then we must free the old man.’
‘Splendid idea. Brilliant plan. How do you propose we go about it?’
‘First,’ said Leif, ‘we must find where they are keeping him.’
John sighed. ‘I’m going back to bed.’
He sauntered out, his leisurely stride a calculated insult. Leif glowered at his retreating back. ‘Someday I smash his face.’
‘Max is planning to take care of that little matter for you,’ I said.
‘And you object.’
‘I object to murder. It’s just a silly girlish prejudice.’
Sarcasm was wasted on Leif. He gave me a blank stare. ‘Besides,’ I went on, ‘we can’t depend on Max’s guarantees. How do we know he won’t kill all of us when he’s finished here?’
‘Why should he?’
‘Because he’s a crimnal,’ I said patiently. ‘His organization specializes in grand theft, blackmail, torture, and murder. For God’s sake, Leif, you can’t be that naive.’
‘Then what do you want to do?’ Leif asked, frowning.
‘Well, I sure as hell don’t want to sit around waiting for Max to make up his mind whether or not to kill me.’
‘You wish to escape from him?’
‘You’ve got it.’
‘All of us?’
‘All of us.’
‘Smythe too?’
‘Smythe too.’
‘You wish me to help?’
‘That would be very nice.’
Leif thought about it, stroking his moustache thoughtfully. Then he nodded. ‘Very well. First we find the old man. Then we escape – all of us, even Smythe. Then I smash Mr Smythe’s face.’
Whereupon he left the room, having arranged his programme to his satisfaction.
Aside from a few imponderables – such as locating Gus, overpowering his guards, and knocking all the other villains unconscious – there was one basic flaw in Leif’s scheme. In a few brilliantly conceived sentences, Max had made Georg a confederate. Perhaps Georg had once been a promising archaeologist – his name was vaguely familiar – but Max had two firm holds on him now: the drug he used, which Max could hand out or withhold at his own, discretion, and Georg’s hatred of John. If he had been chasing his bête noire all over Europe, he was not about to shake hands and forget the whole thing. He’d be more than happy to cooperate in Max’s project of extermination, and although I didn’t know the precise details of the part John had played in his disintegration, I wasn’t altogether sure I blamed him.
The coffee was cold. I swallowed the repulsive dregs and decided I might as well get dressed. I hadn’t had much sleep, but there was no chance of wooing Morpheus, not in my present mood.
My room was a shambles. Someone had done a thorough job of searching it. Straightening up the mess gave me a chance to work off some pent-up anger; it was also a form of protest against the chaos these thugs had brought into Gus’s harmless, decent life.
I put on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and tossed a sweater over my shoulder. On my way out I passed John’s door and paused to listen. Not a sound. I eased the door open. He lay curled up like a sleeping baby, an angelic smile on his lips. His lashes, several shades darker than his hair, fringed the closed lids with gold. I slammed the door as hard as I could and went on.
The echoes of the slam followed me as I trotted along the corridor, fighting a panicky impulse to run. The stillness of the empty house was unnerving. My brain couldn’t seem to get in gear. A succession of shocks had stunned it into stupidity.
Unless Max struck it lucky, I had a couple of days. He wouldn’t dispose of us until he had no further use for us as hostages or sources of information. In fact, he might have been telling the truth when he said he meant to let us go unharmed. It wasn’t as if we were the only people in the Western Hemisphere who could identify him as a master criminal. After due reflection I decided I had a seventy-thirty chance of survival. But I didn’t like the odds. Where my life is concerned I prefer a sure thing.
There were two possible methods of procedure. The first was to rescue Gus and then go on from there. The second was to immobilize Max and all his gang. I am sure I need not explain why, after very brief consideration of the second idea, I returned to method number one.