Free The Night People by Edward D. Hoch

Martha. I’ll see you back at the hotel room.”
    “Mine or yours?” she asked with a wicked grin.
    At any other time he would have had an answer for that, but he only smiled and started quickly down the steps to his car. Then, on second thought, he said, “You’d better take the car. I’ll get a taxi back to the hotel.” He knew she’d have to drive across town to the hotel that served as registration office for the festival.
    There was no taxi in sight, and he went back inside to call one. “Monsieur Chambers!” someone called, and he saw one of the French party, a minor government representative, bearing down on him. “Monsieur Chambers, the American, Monsieur Baine just called for you. He is at the theatre and wants you to join him at once.”
    “Oh?” It sounded strange. He tried to remember if he had seen Baine inside. Certainly the American producer would have no reason for summoning him to the deserted theatre in the middle of the night. “Thanks for the message. I’ll see him.”
    The theatre was not far from the hotel where he was staying, and Win decided to skip the cab and walk the distance. He’d seen too many movies of kidnappings in taxicabs. He remembered back seats without doorknobs, gas jets through the floor, and various other refinements. These were no longer the fantasies of his youth. Now they seemed a part of a very real game, a game of life and death.
    The theatre was dark when he reached it, but the side door was unlocked. He knew Baine would not be waiting there. Only death would be waiting, probably in the person of the two Russians that Tonia had mentioned. He turned away from the door, and saw too late that he’d miscalculated one point. They’d been waiting outside the theatre for his arrival.
    Two bulky, broad-shouldered shapes in the night, cutting diagonally across the street to intercept him on his route! There was no escape, unless he went through the theatre door where anything might lurk. No, he’d wait in the street for them, hoping that a passing car or two might save his life.
    “Mister Chambers,” one of them said thickly. There was no mistaking that these were the Russians.
    He broke into a trot, heading towards the hotel. Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw one of the men reach into his coat, but the other put out a restraining hand. They wouldn’t shoot, not while they didn’t have the star.
    But they followed. He reached the hotel lobby panting for breath, seeing them across the street. Then up in the elevator, without a plan, without much of a hope. He had the terrifying thought that they might grab Martha when she arrived, and then what would he do? He felt suddenly so small and helpless, without a friend he could trust, in a foreign city where the shadows grew steadily darker.
    Then he was unlocking his door, falling inside, snapping on the light to confront a tall middle-aged man he’d never seen before. The man rose smiling as he entered, extending his hand. “Didn’t mean to startle you, Mr. Chambers. My name is Tweller. I was a friend of John Falconi….”
    Tweller was an Englishman, with a moustache and hair that reminded Win of Sir Anthony Eden. He carried himself like a businessman or even a politician—anything but a secret agent. Win supposed this was what made him good at his profession.
    “I’m glad to see you,” he said. “Couple of Russians down in the street.”
    Tweller stepped quickly to the window. “Yes,” he said. “We’ll attend to them. You’ve been playing a dangerous game.”
    “Not of my liking, believe me. Falconi roped me into it with his smooth talking.”
    Tweller smiled. “Yes, he was a one for that. We’ll miss him. Did you accomplish your little mission on our behalf?”
    “Didn’t Falconi tell you? Didn’t you see him today?”
    The Englishman shook his head. “No. I only know you went to see him tonight.”
    Something stirred in Win’s mind, a vague forming of thought. He watched the Englishman