Free Secret Kingdom by Francis Bennett Page B

her.
    ‘You’re my lover,’ she had said to him early in their affair. ‘My one true lover, for whom I was made, mind and body. No other man could do to me what you do. Never forget that, Joe Leman. No other man.’
    Whatever else he may have done to her, he had never forgotten that. Not once in all the days they’d been together. She was his, too, he was made for her, only he never dared to tell her so. Surely she knew that? Surely she knew that he loved her?
    He hurried on, dreaming of the woman with whom he shared so much of his life. So much, but not yet everything.
    He was yards away from the steps that led up to the front door of the apartment building when two men got out of a car parked on the other side of the street. He had his hand on the rail when they caught up with him. One of them held him fast by the arm.
    ‘Herr Leman?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Where were you? Why didn’t you answer the telephone? We’ve been trying to get in touch all day.’
    So he was right, but the knowledge gave him no pleasure.
    ‘I arrived in Vienna a few hours ago.’
    ‘We were told you’d arrived on Sunday. We were to give you two days to settle.’
    ‘You were told wrong. Try me in a couple of days.’ He turned to enter the building.
    ‘We cannot.’ The grip on his arm tightened. ‘We have made arrangements to take you to your destination tonight.’
    ‘That’s impossible.’
    ‘We have only minutes left. Then the plan is kaput.’
    ‘Kaput for tonight.’
    ‘Kaput, Herr Leman. This arrangement cannot be changed. It has been very difficult to make it. Much money has been spent. All is prepared. It is now or it is not at all.’
    Oh, God.
    ‘I have things in the flat.’
    The restraining hand gave him the answer he did not want. ‘We have too short a time left and we have some distance to travel. You come now, this minute.’
    They drove fast. Where they were heading he had no idea. What the hell was he to do? He couldn’t remember the telephone number of the apartment, he hadn’t been there long enough. Even if he had the chance, he wouldn’t be able to phone Anna. This was a mess, a real mess. If everything was going as badly wrong as this at the start, what hope was there for the rest of the journey?
    That decided him. He would get to wherever they were taking him and then he’d say no, he’d changed his mind, the deal was off. He’d ask to be driven back to the apartment, right now, this minute. If they wanted more money, he’d pay them. He’d get it back off Sykes. It would be small change to him.
    In the event, he had no time to think. With all the skill of the hangman organizing the last seconds of the condemned prisoner’s life, they pulled a scarf over his eyes and pushed him out of the car, down a ramp and on to a metal surface before he had time to draw breath. He smelled diesel fuel and something else, the sweet sickly smell of unrefined sugar. This was the Danube, he was on a barge, carrying sugar to where? Budapest? Beyond?
    Hands reached up to guide him blindfold down more steps, wooden this time, a gangway, then the scarf was removed from his eyes. Somewhere above him, in the world he had left, he heard the doors of the car shut, the engine roar into life. Then he was aware ofthe barge sliding smoothly away from its moorings, a slow, effortless movement sustained by the distant throbbing of the engine. He was guided through the gloom to a cabin.
    A voice said: ‘You’ll be safe here. We will wake you in good time. Goodnight, Herr Leman. Get some rest.’
    The door was locked behind him. He was in a dimly lit cabin, with a bed and a blanket, nothing else. No pillow, no porthole, nothing. He was shivering, not from cold but from fear. He sat down on the edge of the bunk and put his head in his hands.

THE SWIMMING POOL IN THE DYNAMO STADIUM, MOSCOW
February 1940
    The whistle blows.
    Forward to your marks.
    Curl your toes round the edge of the platform. Balance on the balls of your feet. Push