Snowfall Read online

  ‘He’s thrown down his skis,’ Becker whispered. ‘That means he’s decided to jump off and follow us.’

  I turned my head towards him. ‘But you said –’ I began.

  ‘Shh. I was bluffing, and he’s called my bluff. All we can hope now is that the falling snow will have covered our tracks, so that he won’t know exactly where we are. Stay absolutely still, Kate. Remember he’s armed.’

  He pulled me close against him and we pressed ourselves to the rough scaly bark in the hope that our shapes would merge with that of the pine tree. I forgot that a few minutes before, sitting up on the chair lift, I hadn’t known whether or not to trust Jon Becker. I still couldn’t be entirely sure about him. All I knew for certain was that he hadn’t a gun, and Phil Sloan had; and like all those who are born and brought up in Britain, where policemen don’t carry guns, I instinctively associate firearms with criminals.

  Rightly or wrongly, I’d thrown in my lot with Becker. All I was conscious of now was relief that I was not alone, and gratitude for the warmth of his body as we stood, not daring to stir, and strained our eyes to watch for movements in the wreathing mist that surrounded us.

  But mist and over-wrought imagination had brought the pinewood to life. Like Shakespeare’s Birnam Wood, it all seemed to be on the move. Every dark trunk became the figure of a man in a dark blue anorak and ski pants, searching for us.

  A dead branch crackled a few yards away. If I’d wanted to move I couldn’t have done so because Becker was holding his breath, and the pressure of his chest pinned me against the tree.

  I heard the hiss of skis on snow, then another crackle of dead wood.

  ‘Kate?’ I heard Phil Sloan call softly. His tone was ingratiating. ‘Kate dear, where are you? Rosemary and I are your friends, you know that. We want to help you. Don’t worry about my gun. It’s Becker you should be worried about – don’t trust him, Kate! You know you’ll be safe with us.’

  A big chilly hand slid over my mouth, holding it closed. I thought that I was going to suffocate, or that my ribs would crack, or that my cheek would be cut by the jagged pine bark it was pressed against; all three, if Becker didn’t loosen his grip.

  The skis hissed again. ‘Kate?’ Sloan called, this time from a little further away. ‘I’m here to rescue you, Kate, just as Rosemary and I rescued you from that hut. Becker told me that if I jumped off the lift I’d fall on rocks, but I took a chance because I know he’s a liar. You know it too, Kate – what has he ever done for you? Come on, dear, tell me where you are. Rosemary will be worried sick if I don’t bring you back …’

  His voice faded. I tried to wriggle out of Becker’s grasp, but he wouldn’t let me stir. Only when he could hardly hear my name being called above the wind did he remove his hand from my mouth.

  ‘For goodness’ sake –’ I gasped.

  Becker released me abruptly. ‘We’d better get moving,’ he said. ‘The toboggan run is just on the other side of these trees, and we can walk down the track. Come on, and keep quiet, because Sloan can’t possibly ski properly in this mist and he may not be far ahead.’

  I touched the side of my face gingerly. It didn’t seem to have been cut, but I could feel indentations where the tender skin had been pressed against the tree trunk. I felt sore in body and utterly confused in mind, and not in the least well disposed towards Jon Becker.

  ‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me exactly what’s going on.’

  He pulled impatiently at my arm. ‘I will, I promise. But not here and now – let’s get back to the foot of the chair lift, my car’s there.’

  ‘The white Mercedes? The one that tried to run me down in Innsbruck?’

  He sounded a little disconcerted. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact – look, I can explain everything when we get back to civilization. Just trust me. After all, you trusted me enough to jump off the chair lift –’

  I retrieved my arm and tried to forget the instinct that had led me to jump. ‘Wrong. I trusted Phil Sloan less, that’s all. But I’m not stirring until I know for sure what you’re up to.’

  Jon Becker was silent for a few moments. The ski lift had finally stopped running, and all we could hear was the wind shaking the tops of the pine trees high above. Then he said: ‘All right. I’ll tell you as much as I can. I was reluctant to talk before because I’m afraid you’re not going to like the truth.’

  ‘Try me,’ I said, folding my arms sternly and propping myself against the tree.

  Becker had taken off his skis and now he stood facing me; it was too dark to see his features clearly, but I could distinguish the movement of his eyes and the white of his teeth as he began to speak, quickly and tonelessly.

  ‘Very well. Tell me, then, Kate – what did your friend Matthew Danby do for a living?’

  I was taken aback. ‘Matt? He was with an international computer company.’

  ‘No he wasn’t, that was just his cover. He was really with the CIA.’

  My whole world seemed to turn slowly upside down. I grasped the tree trunk, seeking for some kind of stability. ‘The – you mean the American Central Intelligence Agency? You mean he was – you’re trying to tell me that Matt was a – a secret agent?’

  ‘So I’m reliably informed.’

  Becker’s coolness infuriated me. ‘You’re lying again, you must be! I knew Matt – I loved him, I lived with him. He couldn’t have been involved in something like that without my knowledge.’

  ‘Of course he could. You don’t imagine that you’re the first girl in the world whose lover misled her about some aspect of his life, surely?’

  ‘Don’t you dare be so insufferably supercilious!’ I blazed at him. ‘Considering the lies you’ve told me – oh yes, I learned quite a bit to your discredit from Jane Hallam! All that stuff you told me about the way she’d had to rush back to England, leaving your son with no one to look after him –’

  ‘Do you want to hear what I have to tell you?’ interrupted Becker. ‘Because if you’re simply going to throw childish accusations at me, I intend to start walking, and you can follow or not as you please.’

  I sagged back against the tree. ‘Go on,’ I muttered, ‘how do you know this anyway? Don’t tell me that you’re a spy too?’

  Becker gave a short laugh. ‘I most certainly am not! I’m exactly what I told you, a university lecturer. But I do happen to have a friend who’s in British government service – we were students together, and he knows my Anglo-Austrian background. When he heard that I was coming to take up this appointment at Innsbruck university, he asked me to send in regular appraisals of the political situation in this area. Apparently the government likes to keep as many ears to the ground as possible. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I had a call from him telling me that a girl his department has had under surveillance was coming here on holiday, and asking if I would keep a friendly eye on her.’

  I shut my eyes tightly, as an aid to digesting his preposterous words. ‘You don’t mean … me? I’ve been under surveillance – ?’

  ‘Oh, just routine procedure, I understand. Every country likes to keep tabs on known foreign agents who live there, and this means checking their associates too. Danby was known to be in the CIA, so naturally the British government took an interest in his relationship with you.’

  ‘My flat was searched,’ I remembered suddenly, ‘just after I heard that Matt had died – and some of his things were taken.’

  ‘Very likely. By his colleagues, I suppose; or perhaps by the opposition. CIA men collect enemies like I collect facts about the history of the Brenner Pass. Apparently my friend’s department had checked you out and knew you were clear, but they were concerned that the opposition might think you were involved in Danby’s work. That’s why a sympathetic watch has been kept on your movements ever since his death. It was suspected, you see, that he had been … disposed of. And that meant that there was a possibility that you could be in danger too.’

  ‘Disposed o
f – ?’

  ‘I did warn you that you wouldn’t like this, Kate. Yes, murdered, I’m afraid. I understand that it’s one of the CIA’s occupational hazards.’

  Strangely enough, I wasn’t surprised; in a way, this seemed merely a confirmation of something I had suspected. ‘But – but it was one of Matt’s colleagues who came to tell me that it was a climbing accident,’ I objected. ‘Surely he would have known the truth?’

  ‘Of course. But you wouldn’t expect him to tell you, would you? The CIA would naturally want to put out some kind of story that wouldn’t give rise to any suspicion about Danby’s real activities.’

  I had begun to shiver. The cold of the mountainside had seeped under my skin and was working itself into my bones, but I felt unable to move. Dark as it was under the trees, I sensed a growing, chilly, mental illumination. So many things that had puzzled me were at last becoming clear; all the uneasiness I’d felt about Matt, ever since coming to Kirchwald, now seemed to be appallingly well-founded.

  ‘But who would want to kill him? Who is this opposition you’re talking about? And what on earth was Matt – the CIA – doing in a little country like Austria that minds its own business and makes a living out of tourism?’

  Jon Becker picked up his skis, and put his free hand under my elbow. ‘Come on, Kate, you must start walking or you’ll freeze to death. I’ll tell you as much as I can while we go.’

  He guided my stumbling walk. When we cleared the trees, I saw it was no longer snowing. The clouds had lifted, and were now driving in ragged skeins across a starlit sky. Even so, I was hopelessly lost. But Becker led me, floundering, through deep snow, and then helped me down into a wide trench that I realized was a stretch of the toboggan run. We were out of the wind here, and could move easily on the hard-packed snow. He put one arm round my waist and forced me into a downhill jog to warm me up. When I gasped for a reprieve he slowed the pace and began to answer my questions as far as he was able. It wasn’t far.

  ‘As to what your friend was doing here, I wasn’t told. I don’t imagine the British government knows. But the CIA is involved in all kinds of intelligence activities all over the world – and the opposition is presumably anyone who, for whatever reason, doesn’t like what the CIA is doing. I don’t know what was behind Danby’s death, and I don’t know who killed him; what’s more, I don’t want to know. This is what I was trying to tell you, Kate – it isn’t a wise thing for you to get involved in international intelligence. Danby was killed doing what he conceived to be his duty; he knew the risks his work entailed, and he didn’t tell you about it because he didn’t want to implicate you in any way. He wouldn’t have wanted you to put yourself in danger by coming here and asking questions.’

  ‘But I didn’t come here to ask questions –’ I began indignantly.

  ‘I know that. But the opposition didn’t know it – for all they knew, you might have been coming here to finish some piece of work that Danby left undone. That’s why my friend in London asked me, informally, to keep an eye on you – to make sure that you came to no harm. That’s why I called at the Alte Post on your first evening, and gave you my address and telephone number – remember? That’s why I followed you up the Alm the next day – and I don’t mind telling you that I was worried by the five-part conversation we had up there. I mistrusted Toni Hammerl, and I didn’t take to Sloan one little bit.’

  ‘Oh, but Phil is – was – seemed so inoffensive. What made you suspect him?’

  ‘His binoculars. I made a point of borrowing them. He said that he’d bought them second hand in London, but as my uncle used to sell optical instruments I do know a bit about them. These were a fairly recent Czech model, and far too expensive and powerful to have been bought for bird-watching, as Sloan claimed. It occurred to me then that the honeymoon might be just a blind, and that he was in fact following you – so I thought I’d better get you out of harm’s way as soon as possible.’

  ‘Enticing me to your apartment,’ I commented dryly, ‘by appealing to a maternal instinct that I simply don’t have …’

  His arm tightened round my waist and he forced me into another jogtrot down the snowbound track. ‘It was the best thing I could think of at the time. I knew that you hadn’t taken to me, so it was no use simply issuing a friendly invitation … and, yes, I admit that I took it for granted that you’d have a maternal instinct. I was quite proud of my sob-story, until you did your brutal demolition job on it. You’re a very unsympathetic woman, Kate Paterson.’

  That was unfair. I’d taken some hard knocks and learned to grow a defensive shell, that was all. ‘Whereas you,’ I pointed out, ‘treat everyone with courtesy and consideration – as you did poor Jane Hallam!’

  He began to make excuses, but I wasn’t listening. We had reached the point in the toboggan run where the skiers had to leap across it, the point where Stephen and I had been made to crash.

  I stopped and turned to Jon Becker. His arm was still round me, and I removed it. ‘You haven’t finished explaining yet,’ I said grimly, remembering the fear and pain of the crash. ‘What about your man, Fritzi Kraus? He frightened me out of my wits by following me, and made two deliberate attempts on my life!’

  ‘I’m sorry if he frightened you. I set him to follow you, just to make sure that you came to no harm. I didn’t think you’d find it acceptable if I trailed you. And I admit that I told him to drive the car at you in Innsbruck, so that I would have an excuse for taking you to safety. Yes, that was all a put-up job. Alarming for you, I can see that, but all done with the best of intentions. But what’s this about two deliberate attempts on your life?’

  I told him about the man who had caused the toboggan crash, and he disclaimed all knowledge of it. We agreed that it had probably been Phil Sloan.

  ‘Or more likely Toni Hammerl,’ I remembered. ‘Toni has been doing all he can to keep me off the mountain, while Phil has been encouraging me to go up there … Look, Jon, something very strange is going on. Both Toni and Phil seem to be involved, but it’s so confusing. I can’t make out what they’re trying to do, or even whether they’re on the same side. And then there’s old Otto Hammerl, and goodness knows what he’s up to …’

  ‘Forget it,’ said Jon crisply. ‘I’ve managed at last to extricate you and to convince you of my good faith – right? So now we leave it. I’ve been observing central European politics for too long to want to get involved in them. Political involvement can be dangerous, as Matt Danby knew to his cost. I’ve a child to consider, remember, and being a parent alters your perspective – as you’ll no doubt find out for yourself one day.’

  I let that pass. We walked on. I was feeling very tired now, and I wasn’t sorry when he put his arm round me again.

  ‘And also,’ he added, ‘I feel responsible for your safety as long as you’re here. After all, what would my London friend say if I let anything happen to you – not to mention your family! So please, Kate, don’t be difficult and independent any more. Come with me, now, back to Innsbruck – not to look after Bruno, I promise you won’t have to do that, but for your own safety. You can leave your things at the Alte Post, and I’ll pick them up tomorrow – you can hardly go back there, after what’s happened. All right?’

  I agreed. I was too tired and cold to argue; besides, Jon was right, I didn’t want to have to meet any of the Hammerls or Sloans again. It was a wonderful relief to see the white Mercedes – the only car left in the car park at the foot of the chair lift. I flopped wearily on to the passenger seat, and abdicated. If Jon Becker wanted to look after my interests during the remainder of my stay in Austria, I had no intention of raising any objections.

  The starlight was now bright enough to show us the winding road that led from Kirchwald down towards Innsbruck. There was no other traffic on our road, but as we neared the edge of the sloping plateau we could see a steady stream of lights below us in the valley, on what had once been the main road through to the Brenner Pass. Since the building of the motorw
ay it took only local traffic, but at this early hour in the evening it was busy with commuters returning from Innsbruck.

  Jon Becker was obviously used to driving in Alpine conditions. He took the narrow road out of the village a good deal faster than I would have dared, and then shifted into first gear as we approached the top of the steep bank that would take us down to join the traffic on the main road.

  The heavy car should have slowed. Instead, it began to slide.

  Jon braked, cautiously. ‘The snow chains,’ I heard him mutter. ‘Why aren’t the snow chains gripping?’

  The car crested the hill and began to waltz down the icebound road, completely out of control. Everything must have been happening very quickly, but I had a bizarre impression of being on a fairground ride that was travelling in slow motion. I clung to my seat belt and watched, horrified, as the starlit landscape appeared to spin round the car and the traffic on the main road rose to meet us, sideways on.

  I glanced for a second at Jon. His hands juggled with the wheel, his face in the light from the dashboard was pale and set.

  ‘Put your arms over your face,’ he instructed me grimly. ‘I can’t stop – someone’s taken off our snow chains.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The price of a cup of coffee in Austria is so high that I never expected to find myself in a situation where I felt that if one more benevolent Austrian offered me one more free cup, I’d scream.

  Jon and I spent the early part of the evening in Innsbruck hospital, being treated for minor cuts and bruises. He had managed to avoid hitting any other vehicles, but had bent his car against the guard rail on the far side of the road. The Mercedes had been towed ignominiously away, leaving us to count our good fortune and bless our seat belts as we rode from the scene in an ambulance.

  But we were taken to the hospital under police escort, and we spent the remainder of the evening at a police station. Once the officers had satisfied themselves that Jon had not been drinking, they were prepared to listen to his story about the missing snow chains. A patrol man was sent to Kirchwald and radioed in a report that he had found the chains, severed by a metal cutter, lying in the snow of the car park at the foot of the chair lift.