Inside, on a filthy bed, were two naked teenagers, a dark-haired boy on top of a fat, fair-skinned girl, the girl’s legs spread up toward the ceiling, the boy lying between them, both hands on her breasts. At the sound of the crash and the sight of the stranger, the girl screamed. The boy spun off her, rolling onto the floor, his mouth open in shock.
The crash! The sound of the crash was an alarm. Holcroft ran into the corridor and raced to the next door on the left. There was no time to be concerned about anything but finding Helden. He slammed his shoulder into the door, twisting the knob awkwardly with his left hand, his right gripping the handle of the gun. There was no need for force; the door gave way.
Noel stood in the door frame, for an instant feeling ashamed. Against the wall by a window was a blind man. He was an old man and he was trembling at the unseen, unknown violence that had invaded his dark privacy.
«Nom de Dieu…» he whispered, holding his hands in front of him.
The sound of racing footsteps came from the hallway, footsteps that grew louder—the sound of a man not simply running but running frantically, leather slapping against wood. Holcroft turned quickly, in time to see the figure of the MI-Five agent rush past. There was a crash of glass from somewhere outside. Noel lurched out of the blind man’s room, looking to the left, where the crash had come from; there was sunlight streaming through an open door at the end of the corridor. Its panes of glass had been painted black; he had not seen it in the dim light.
How did the agent know a door was there? Why had he kicked it open and raced outside? Did the MI-Five man think he had gone out that way? Instinct told him the agent would not give him that much credit; he was an amateur, a lunatic. No, he was after someone else.
It could be only Helden! But Helden was behind the door across from the blind man’s room; it was the only place left. It had to be. The agent was wrong!
Holcroft kicked the door in front of him; the lock broke, the door swung open, and he rushed inside.
It was empty, had been empty a very long time. Layers of dust were everywhere … and there were no footprints. No one had been inside that room for weeks.
The MI-Five man had been right. The amateur had not known something that the professional had perceived.
Noel ran out of the empty room, down the dark corridor, through the shattered door, and out into a courtyard. On the left was a heavy wooden door that led back to the side street. It was open, and Holcroft raced through it. He could hear sounds of the carnival from the square, but they were not the only sounds. Far down the deserted street to his right he could hear a scream, cut off now as it had been cut off before. He ran in the direction of the scream, in Helden’s direction, but he could see no one.
«Get back!» The command came from a recessed doorway.
There was a gunshot; above him stone shattered and he could hear the sickening whine of a ricocheting bullet.
Noel threw himself to the ground, onto the hard, irregular surface of the cobblestones. As he broke his fall, his finger touched the trigger of his gun. It fired, the explosion next to his face. In panic, he rolled over and over toward the recessed doorway. Hands grabbed him, pulling his body into the shadows. The man from British Intelligence, the young man with the scar on his forehead, yanked him back against the stone entranceway.
«I repeat! You’re a goddamned fool! I should kill you myself and save them the trouble.» The agent was crouched against the wall; he inched his face to the edge.
«I don’t believe you,» said Noel. «I don’t believe any of this. Where is she?»
«The bastard’s holding her across the way, about twenty yards down. My guess is he’s got a radio and has contacted a car.»
«They’re going to kill her!»
«Not now they won’t. I don’t know why, but that’s not what they have in mind. Perhaps because she’s his sister.»
«Get off that! It’s wrong: it’s crazy! I told her; she reached him. He’s no more this Tinamou than you are. And he’s mad as hell. He’ll probably write something for his paper, make you, the Foreign Office, the whole damned British government, look like assholes!»
The MI-Five agent stared at Holcroft. His look was that of a man studying the ravings of a psychopath, equal parts curiosity, revulsion, and astonishment. «He what? You what?»
«You heard me.»
«My God… Whoever you are, whatever you’re involved with, you’re not remotely connected with any of this.»
«I told you that in London,» said Noel, struggling to sit up, trying to find his breath again. «Did you think I was lying?»
«We knew you were lying; we just didn’t know why. We thought you were being used by men wanting to reach Von Tiebolt.»
«For what?»
«Make a blind contact, neither side exposing itself. It was a fair cover: money in America, left for the family.»
«But for what?»
«Later! You want the girl, I want the bastard who’s got her. Listen to me.» The agent gestured at the automatic in Noel’s hand. «Do you know how to use that?»
«I once had to use a gun like it. I’m no expert.»
«You don’t have to be; you’ll have a large target. If I’m right, they’ve got a car cruising the area.»
«Don’t you?»
«No, I’m alone. Now listen to me. If a car drives up, it’ll have to stop. The second it does I’m going to dash over to that doorway across the street. As I’m running, cover me by shooting directly at the car. Aim for the windscreen. Hit the tires, the radiator. I don’t care what, but try to get the windscreen. Shoot it up; immobilize the damned car, if you can; and pray to God that the locals stay away at that fucking wingding in the square.»
«Suppose they don’t, suppose someone—»
«Try not to hit him, you ass!» broke in the Englishman. «And keep your fire to the right side of the car. Your right. Expose yourself as little as possible.»
«The right side of the car?»
«Yes, unless you want to hit the girl, which, frankly, I don’t give a piss about. But I want him. Of course, if I’m wrong, none of this applies, and we’ll have to think of something else.»
The agent’s face was pressed against the stone. He inched it forward, peering down the street. The unfamiliar forest belonged to such men, not to well-intentioned architects. «You weren’t wrong back in that old building,» Noel said. «You knew there was another way out.»
«A second exit. No one worth his pecker would allow himself to be trapped inside.»
Once more the professional was right. Noel could hear the screeching of tires; an automobile careened around an unseen corner and drew rapidly closer. The agent stood up, gesturing for Noel to follow. He looked around the edge of the entranceway, his forearm angled across his chest, his pistol in his hand.
There was a second screech of tires; the automobile came to a stop. The agent shouted at Holcroft as he leaped from the doorway, firing his pistol twice at the car, and raced across the street.
«Now!»
It was a brief nightmare, made intensely real by the shattering sounds and the frantic movement. Noel was actually doing it. He could see the automatic in front of him, at the end of his arm, being held in his hand. He could feel the vibrations that traveled through his body each time he squeezed the trigger.