Whiff Of Money

Silk had rented a room across the road, facing Adams' apartment block. He arrived there early one morning and took up a position on the hard kitchen chair, the curtains of the window half drawn. He had brought with him his favourite killing weapon: a .22 target rifle with a telescopic sight. He waited for Adams to show. He wasn't to know that Adams was in bed with flu. There was an important mass meeting being held at 21.00 hrs. that evening and Radnitz had ordered Silk to stop Adams from attending. Silk imagined Adams was certain to go out during the day, so he waited. He waited for thirteen hours. He hadn't brought food with him, and around 17.00 hrs. he was hungry, thirsty and viciously angry. He didn't dare leave the window for a second. He knew that when Adams moved, he always moved fast, and his shabby car was parked only a few yards from the entrance to the apartment block.

Sitting in his chair, now waiting for Girland, Silk told himself the Adams' affair had been the longest endurance test he had ever had, but it had taught him that if you wait long enough, were patient enough, you fixed what you were hired to fix.

Adams had finally shown at 20.30 hrs. The light was bad and he moved fast, running down the steps and heading for his car.

Because Silk hadn't relaxed for a moment during those long thirteen hours, he was ready for him. As Adams paused briefly to unlock the car door, Silk got his head in the centre of the cross hairs of the telescopic sight and squeezed the trigger. That had been the end of Adams' trouble making.

Because of this experience, Silk was prepared to wait all day for Girland. The count would keep his men out in the forest until dusk. Sooner or later, Girland would make his break. The success or failure of this trap depended on whether Girland believed the Schloss had been evacuated. If he suspected a trap, then he might remain out of sight in spite of hunger and thirst. Although he was unarmed, there were plenty of weapons to hand . .. swords, knives, battle-axes that adorned most of the walls, but these kind of weapons didn't bother Silk. He knew no man bom could compete with him with a hand weapon against his gun.

Silk would have liked to smoke, but that would be a give away. He crossed one leg over the other and relaxed, his ears pricked and his one eye on the half open door.

In the big hall was a splendid grandfather clock. During the steady swing of its pendulum, the lead weight slightly touched the case of the clock, making a distinct and regular noise. After half an hour of listening to this noise, Silk found it was getting on his nerves. He wanted to go out into the hall and stop the dock, but this would be too dangerous. If Girland was somewhere upstairs, he too could hear the scrape... scrape... scrape from the clock, and he would be immediately alerted if the clock was stopped. The clock suddenly struck nine: its soft mellow chimes startling Silk. Later, it startled him again when it struck ten.

Although he imagined he had nerves of steel, he found the two hour wait had made him too tense. Twice during this time, he imagined he had heard another slight sound above the scraping of the pendulum and he had half-risen to his feet. Then satisfied that Girland wasn't creeping down the stairs, he sat back, his hand closing over his pack of cigaretttes, then remembering, had silently cursed. He was now longing for a cigarette. At least during those thirteen hours when he had waited for Adams, he had smoked incessantly.

He began to think of Girland. This man was a trained CIA agent. Silk's thin mouth formed into a wry grimace. His first murder assignment had been against a CIA agent, a man who had collected enough evidence to put Radnitz behind bars and had to be eliminated immediately.(see'Believed Violent')

In those days, Silk had been very sure of himself: too sure. The agent had been almost too quick for him and had shot him in the face. Although he had finally managed to kill the agent, he had to spend six months in hospital and had come out with only one eye.

The experience had left him with a subconscious dread of facing another CIA man. But during his years with Radnitz, his victims had been easy . . . pigeons to be shot down without means, training or guts to protect themselves.

Radnitz had warned him about Girland. As he sat in the chair, he remembered von Goltz's consternation. Are you quite sure you shouldn 't have two or three of my men with you?

Silk touched his forehead with the back of his hand. It infuriated him to find he was sweating.

The grandfather clock in the hall began to strike eleven.

* * *

Girland came down the turret stairs. For three weary, boring hours he had been watching the forest without seeing any of von Goltz's men.

'Gilly . '.. make yourself useful. Go up in the turret and watch the forest. If you see anyone coming back, let me know. I want to talk to Malik.'