To All Eternity Page 8

  “Where are we going, sir?”

  “I have no idea. But I imagine it is north.”

  Harry rolled his eyes. North was where they had intended to go, taking Anna Slovitza with them.

  *

  He kissed Caterina again, and went downstairs for a hasty breakfast. Anna was alone.

  “Just us?” he asked.

  “And Lockwood, to be sure.” She smiled. “No, no. We have a support group, but they left two days ago. We rendezvous as Kiskunhalas. Szigeti expects us.”

  “It would help if I knew what was going on,” Berkeley said.

  “You will know, in time enough. You have your weapon? That automatic pistol?”

  “I do.”

  “And Lockwood will bring his shotgun.”

  “Will they let us cross the frontier with guns?”

  “Of course. All Englishmen travel with sidearms. They would be suspicious did you not have a weapon. In any event, our story is that we are going to shoot in the Balaton area. It is a famous hunting ground.”

  “Balaton,” Berkeley said thoughtfully.

  “We are taking a train ride, into Hungary,” Anna said.

  Lockwood nearly choked on his coffee.

  Anna glanced at him. “There is no need to be alarmed, Harry. Only a few of our enemies actually know what I look like. Nor are you likely to encounter anyone able to recognise you, or your master. Nor is there any chance of anyone recognising your name. We are an English couple, Mr and Mr Walter Jones, travelling for our health, with our faithful servant.” She smiled. “As we did in the Carpathians.”

  “Mr and Mrs . . . Anna, that is over.”

  “Because you are married to my daughter? In our business, Berkeley – or perhaps I should practise calling you Walter – we need to use all the weapons we possess. And you, as an itinerant Englishman with the documents to prove it, are a gift from heaven. Caterina will not mind, believe me. In any event, she will never know . . . unless you tell her. Now hurry, the train leaves in half an hour.”

  “We are returning to Belgrade?”

  “This is the northbound train, for Subotica, and the frontier.”

  “And then?”

  “I will tell you at the frontier.”

  *

  From Sabac to the frontier was just about a hundred miles, and they were there for lunch. They had only two carpet-bags with a couple of changes of clothing, and shared a first-class compartment with two men, who it was quickly established did not speak English. But as Anna did have some knowledge of the language, Berkeley and Lockwood could not discuss what was on Lockwood’s mind until Anna left the compartment to go to the toilet.

  Then Lockwood said, “It’s a rum do, sir.”

  “That’s life.”

  “When you think, well, we spent so much time brooding on how we were going to get the lady up to the Hungarian border, and here she is taking us there herself. I mean, you couldn’t have planned the whole thing better if you had planned it.”

  “Only I didn’t.”

  “Yes, sir. But . . . well, talk about fate.”

  “If fate is running this show, Harry, then all we can do is play the cards as they are dealt. We have taken our decision, and we’re not going to change our minds now. It would be an absolute betrayal of trust.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lockwood said, and sighed.

  Berkeley couldn’t blame him for being tempted; he was even tempted himself. As Harry had said, they couldn’t have planned it better. Once across the border, all he had to do was hand Anna over to the police, present his other documents of which she knew nothing, and be whisked across Hungary and Austria to Switzerland; and thence home, promotion, his family and Julia Gracey. The fact that he would be marrying her bigamously was hardly relevant as no one in England knew of the existence of Caterina Slovitza.

  Who would wait, and linger, and mourn, and hate. He shook his head to rid his mind of such unthinkable behaviour.

  *

  Anna returned. “You will have to do the talking at the border,” she said. “My English is not good enough.”

  “I doubt theirs will be either,” he said. “I’ll stick to German as much as possible.”

  She nodded. “Good. Then I will understand what is going on. Now, from the border, we go to a place called Kiskunhalas. It is only another twenty-odd miles further on; we will get there this afternoon. There we will leave the train. I have an agent there, Paul Szigeti. He will be waiting for us, and we will spend the rest of the day in his house, although you may take me for a walk, if you wish. Kiskunhalas is a famous lacemaking centre. I am sure a travelling Englishman would wish to buy a piece of lace for his wife.”

  It occurred to Berkeley that she was having the time of her life, travelling with him, even if this time it was into danger instead of out of it. But he needed to remember that she had, at least for a few minutes, been very frightened in Seinheit.

  She smiled at him. “You can even buy a piece of lace for your other wife,” she suggested.

  Berkeley gazed out of the window at the almost flat countryside rushing by the track. While he was rushing at his destiny. He could still change his mind, still betray both Anna and Caterina. Once they had crossed the border and linked up with this man Szigeti, he would be an anarchist, against whom every law enforcement officer in Europe would be ranged.

  “And what do we do after Kiskunhalas?” he asked.

  “I will tell you, in Kiskunhalas,” she promised.

  *

  Subotica was actually a few miles south of the border, and the train stopped there to allow the passengers to stretch their legs and have some lunch.

  “Now the adrenalin begins to flow,” Anna said, drinking wine.

  “Are you afraid? Do you ever get afraid?”

  “Apprehensive. Is that not what soldiers feel before they go into battle?”

  “And we are going into battle?”

  “In our own fashion, yes.”

  The train slowed to a halt at the frontier post. Armed border guards marched along the corridors, demanding to see passports. The guard who entered their compartment spoke neither English nor German, and had to summon one of his comrades, who spoke German, of a sort.

  “Where do you go, in Hungary?” he asked Berkeley.

  “Lake Balaton.”

  “This is your first visit?”

  “Yes, indeed.”

  The guard looked at Anna, then at Harry. “Enjoy your stay,” he said.

  “That was easy enough,” Berkeley remarked, as the train moved on.

  “Perhaps too easy,” Anna muttered. “He did not even wish to look in our bags.”

  For all her dismissal of his suggestion that she might be afraid, she was becoming tense again. But as she had said, only an hour later they were in Kiskunhalas and disembarking, Harry carrying the bags.

  Waiting for them was a short, thin man with a hatchet-face and a small moustache. He kissed Anna’s hands then regarded Berkeley with some suspicion.

  “My husband, Mr Walter Jones.” Anna introduced him in German. “And our servant, Lockwood. Walter, this is Paul Szigeti.”

  Berkeley shook hands. Szigeti had a trap waiting and they were loaded in, Lockwood sitting beside the driver, who was Szigeti himself. They drove through the town to a house in a quiet suburb. On a cool September day there were few people about.

  “Is all well?” Anna asked.

  “As far as I am aware, madame.”

  “You have not seen Karlovy?”

  “He will be here tonight, with the horses. We will meet him at a rendezvous outside town.”

  “And the manoeuvres?”

  “They started last week Much banging of cannon. The money will be on time.”

  Berkeley could only continue to be patient. They arrived at the house and were greeted by Madame Szigeti, a stout lady who perspired, and her two teenage daughters who were clearly in awe of their visitors even if surely, Berkeley thought, they could not know the truth of it. But the
y, like their parents, accepted the fact without comment that Anna, who they clearly knew quite well, had suddenly accumulated a husband.

  But at last they were alone in the bedroom they had been given.

  “Whew.” Anna unlaced her boots, kicked them off, threw her hat in a corner, scattered her hair, and stretched on the bed. She made an entrancing picture, and Berkeley had to remind himself that she was his mother-in-law. “I am exhausted. We had better get some sleep, as there will be none tonight.”

  “I think I need to know what we are doing, Anna.”

  She sat up. “Of course you do.” She got off the bed, opened her bag and took out a map which she spread on the table. “We are here.”

  Berkeley took in the position of Kiskunhalas relative to the rest of the country: the border twenty miles to the south, Budapest perhaps a hundred to the north. To the east, the Hungarian plain continued, to the west . . . He frowned. “Aren’t those marshes?”

  “Yes. They are caused by the River Duna bursting its banks over many centuries. To the south is the town of Mohacs. Have you heard of this place?”

  “Mohacs,” Berkeley said thoughtfully. “Yes. It was at Mohacs that the Hungarian army was utterly destroyed by the Ottoman Turks of Suleiman the Magnificent. 1526.”

  “You are a student of history,” Anna observed. “Well, at Mohacs and in the surrounding country, the Austrian army is currently carrying out manoeuvres.”

  “In September?”

  “They think this is necessary, to train their people to fight and move in these conditions. The Austrian army is trained to look in only one direction: east. They do not doubt that they will one day, perhaps one day soon, have to fight Russia. Thus they prepare for warfare in Russian conditions.”

  “They have a point. And what have Austrian manoeuvres got to do with us?”

  “Very simply, armies need to be paid. The money left Budapest the day before yesterday, if my information is correct. The convoy – it is only two wagons – will travel non-stop, and will reach the village of Tolna just after dawn tomorrow morning. We shall be there to meet it. Tolna is only about twenty-five miles from here, due west.”

  Berkeley stared at her in consternation. “You intend to steal an army payroll?”

  “It will be the easiest thing in the world,” Anna said. “I have told you, there are only two wagons. Each has a driver and a guard, and they are accompanied by an escort of twenty horsemen.”

  “Only that?”

  “Well, no one has ever dared attempt to interfere with an army payroll before.”

  “Because it would be committing suicide.”

  “Not if it is properly planned and carried out. As this will be. In Tolna, at dawn, the drivers and the escort will be stopping for breakfast. They will be tired from the night and they will be relaxing because they will be within a few hours of their destination, Mohacs. They will also be within a few miles of the border. This is very convenient for us. Now come and lie down.”

  She took off her dress, but to his relief did not undress any further, He took off his boots and coat and lay beside her.

  “You have additional people?” he asked.

  “We have Karlovy and his three men. They are coming on horseback. They will be here tonight.”

  “And you, me, and Lockwood . . . six men and one woman, taking on twenty-four professional soldiers?”

  “We have some secrets up our sleeves,” she said.

  By which he presumed she meant that she, and they, would be throwing bombs, wounding and maiming indiscriminately where they did not kill.

  “And this is really necessary?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “It is really necessary. For two reasons. One is that we are running low on funds, and need the money.”

  “You reckon you can spend Austrian pfennigs in Serbia and not have them traced back to you?”

  “Not at all. But I find it useful to keep a store of various currencies, for when I am travelling. It is in the strongbox in my room. I will show you when I return. As for the rest, the bulk of the money, there are people who will exchange it for us and the movement. They can launder the money through Bosnia.”

  She certainly seemed well organised.

  “And the other reason?”

  “It will cause a great deal of trouble between the Austrian government and the Serbian. This is good.”

  “I think you are trying to provoke a war.”

  “I would like to see that happen, certainly,” Anna confessed.

  “Have you any idea what war is like? Real war? What it would be like, fought with modern weapons? Serbia would be wiped off the map.”

  “I do not think that will happen,” Anna said. “Russia would not permit it. If Austria were to attack Serbia, Russia would come to our aid. They have promised this.”

  “That assumes the Russian army is worth a damn after the mauling they got from the Japanese, and that the Tsar is in any condition to go to war with anyone else, right now. He has troubles at home.”

  “He has given his sacred word,” Anna insisted.

  She appeared to go to sleep, breathing slowly and evenly. She had no conscience, no apprehension of what tragedies her deeds might perpetuate. And he was her sworn partner. Yet eventually he slept himself; he had had very little sleep the night before. When he awoke, Anna was washing herself in the basin. She was, as always, a delight to watch. But he had awakened to some very odd thoughts.

  “Is this your first visit to Hungary since Seinheit?”

  “Yes. It took me a month to get home, through Russia.”

  “And then I would say you immediately sat down and started planning this raid.”

  Anna used a towel to pat her face dry. “Of course. As I said, we need the money.”

  “But you did not know I was going to come back.”

  “No, I did not.” She began brushing her hair. “I told you, that was a bonus.”

  “On which you acted very quickly.”

  She smiled. “I am good at making quick decisions.”

  “Did you know Caterina would seduce me? She did, you know.”

  “As I did not know you were coming, Berkeley, I could hardly have known she would seduce you, although I will not argue that she did. However, I think it has all worked out very well. Having an Englishman along will make our escape very much easier.”

  “The Austrians will trace me.”

  “By the time they do, we will be safely back in Serbia, and you can always change your name again. Or even use your real one.” She secured her hair with a ribbon on her neck, rather than putting it up. “Now come, it is time to get dressed. We will need a meal before we leave.”

  Berkeley got up, still brooding. “There is something else on my mind. Does Szigeti know what we are planning, where we are going?”

  “No. He only knows that I needed to use his house for a rendezvous with Karlovy.”

  “You’ve used his house before.”

  “Several times. He is a sympathiser to our cause.”

  “And you trust him.”

  “He has never failed me in the past.”

  “You told me you had been betrayed in Buda.”

  Anna glanced at him. “Not by Szigeti.”

  “Are you sure? Did you not use this house on that occasion?”

  Anna frowned. “Otto and I spent the night here, on our way north. But Szigeti knew nothing more than that we were going to Buda. He had no idea what we were planning to do.”

  “Yet, in Buda, you were betrayed. How?”

  “Our getaway vehicle was not where it should have been, and the police were.” She shrugged. “It could have been bad luck. When I said we had been betrayed I was angry. But Szigeti knew nothing of our plans. He is a sympathiser and a go-between who risks much for our cause. He is not an anarchist himself.”

  “And does he know where we are going this time, when we leave here?”

  “No,” Anna said. “He does not know.”

  * />
  Berkeley had to accept her confidence. They finished dressing and went downstairs where Lockwood and a meal were waiting for them. Then Szigeti got out his trap and drove them out of the town and along a lonely road to a copse a mile away. There was no moon and it was very dark. As they approached the copse they heard the stamping and rustling of horses, and a moment later saw four horsemen waiting in the darkness; with them were eight other horses, and two pack animals, heavily laden.

  Szigeti brought the trap to a halt, and they got down; Lockwood unloaded the bags.

  “Did you have any difficulty?” Anna asked Karlovy.

  “None. We told the border guards we were taking the horses for sale in Buda.”

  “And the gun?”

  “They prodded the bags, but the weapons were too well broken up.”

  “Excellent. Well, Szigeti, thank you for everything, as usual. You will receive your money in the usual way.”

  Szigeti kissed her glove. “I look forward to our next meeting.”

  “Of course.”

  They watched the trap disappear into the darkness.

  “Gun?” Berkeley asked.

  Anna chuckled. “I told you that we had hidden resources. Let’s move.”

  There was apparently no longer any reason for concealment of their true purpose. Repeating rifles, divided as Karlovy had said into several pieces, were taken from the packs and fitted together, cartridges were handed out. Berkeley strapped on his Browning and put two spare magazines in his pocket. Lockwood had the shotgun. Anna equipped herself with a revolver. Then they rode into the night, which if anything grew even darker, but Karlovy’s men were sure of the way, even when they came to the marshes and were splashing through vast areas of bogs.

  “Just let the horses find their way,” Anna advised. “They will do it.”

  They came to the river and swam the horses across. By now it was past midnight.

  “This is some show, sir,” Lockwood remarked, riding beside Berkeley.

  “Nothing like the Sudan, eh?”

  Another two hours, the horses walking now on firmer ground, and they saw lights.

  “Tolna,” Anna said.

  “Do you have an agent here as well?” Berkeley asked.