Terror's Cradle

next morning; they'd known nothing and said they had heard nothing, and were leaving for home forthwith. He'd had no reason to keep them in Sweden and had had to let them go. Mr and Mrs Scott were tourists and had stayed only one night, leaving for a Lake Vattern resort next morning.

It was all very pat. I said so and Schmid didn't disagree. Schmid was a familiar type, a hard-nosed and patient professional, not especially happy to see me, but perfectly prepared, since I was there, to find out if there was anything I knew that he didn't. We went over the whole ground several times. Then he said, 'You think she was carrying something, do you not?'

`Depends what you mean. I don't believe she was a courier. Certainly not intentionally.'

Ìntent is not involved. She may have been carrying something.'

Ìf she was, she didn't know,' I said.

`You are wrong. Okay?'

`Go on.'

He looked at me speculatively. 'You are also right.' I said, 'Just tell me.'

`You are right about part of the time. Wrong about the other part. Look at it this way, Mr Sellers. She had spent nearly two weeks in Russia. I am told there was no trouble.'

I nodded, thinking about the sudden search at Sheremetyevo Airport. Maybe Schmid didn't know about that.

He went on. 'She arrived here in Gothenburg and behaved perfectly naturally?'

`Yes.'

Tor a while. Describe to me what she did.'

Àll right. She went out to the printers'. To Strom Brothers, with Marasov.' I was watching him as I spoke. Marasov's name wasn't news to him. 'They worked for a while, then she left and returned o the Scanda Hotel with Marasov. They had one drink, then Marasov left.'

`Your deduction from all this?'

I said, 'All right, she was behaving normally'

`She was. But afterwards, no. Afterwards she telephones London. She even telephones to America. To a Mr Sellers, person-to-person. Okay?'

Ì didn't get the call,' I said. I didn't enlarge on it. Schmid nodded. 'Does she often telephone you like that?' `No.'

`You are her lover? Fiancé?'

`Neither. A friend.'

Òkay. She is not able to speak to her friend. She leaves the hotel. Alone.'

`Where did she go?'

' 'I do not know. But she was out for quite a long time. Nearly three hours.'

`Having dinner?'

`Perhaps. But not in any restaurant in Gothenburg! `You've checked them all?'

We are thorough. Not inspired, perhaps, but thorough. If she left the city it was not by taxi. We checked that, too. When she returns, she goes to her room. Half an hour passes. Then she telephones the police and says she believes her life is in danger. What does that mean?'

I said, 'You believe it means she had found something?' Èxactly.'

`When?' I asked. 'If she'd found something, when did she find it? Before she went out, or after?'

`That,' he said, 'is a problem. Logically it was when she returned. It is sensible? She returns, finds what it was she carried, and telephones the police.'

`Because her life is in danger. But what made her think that? Why did she believe she was in danger?'

Schmid said, 'Perhaps it was the fire.'

I must have looked as surprised as I felt. 'What fire was that?' I demanded. Àt the Scanda Hotel. The letter box. A small quantity of phosphorus was placed in the letter box, Mr Sellers. All the letters were burned. You did not know.'

`No,' I said. 'I didn't know. Had she posted a letter?'

`We do not know. The heat of burning phosphorus is intense. Nothing was left except small ash.'

I remembered the workman in the hotel foyer, working on a cupboard. I said, without thinking. 'She'd phone. She wouldn't write letters.'

`No? A birthday card to a relative? A postcard? The British send many postcards.'

I said, 'Or whatever it was she'd found. Perhaps, when she found it, if she found it, she put it in an envelope and posted it. Postal services are secure.'

Schmid nodded. 'Very secure in Sweden, as in most countries. But not until the letter is collected. The letter box was not secure. Okay?'

Òkay.'

Òkay. If she posted the thing she found. If it was destroyed . . .' He paused and left me to finish.

`You mean, why was she kidnapped?'

Ìf she was kidnapped.'

I said lamely, 'Yes.' I could see his problem very dearly. `So you see.'

`Were there,' I asked, 'any indications at all that she had been in another room? The ones on either side, for in-, stance?'

Schmid shook his head. 'No trace. We took what we believe are Alison Hay's fingerprints from some papers. There were no such fingerprints in either room, though there were many in her own.'

Àmericans one side, Jews the other.'

`Frenchmen,' he corrected. 'Possibly Jewish. You have thought they were Israeli? Why?'

I shrugged helplessly. `No reason. I'm trying to find some reason for it all. You've had trouble with' Arab terrorists in Sweden.'

`We have trouble with Germans and British and Americans, too. Also with Russians and Greeks, Norwegians and Danes. This is a cosmopolitan city. Ìt's not the same thing!'

`No, Mr Sellers, it is not. But conclusions cannot yet be

reached. There are too many possibilities.'

I said bitterly, 'Okay, it's a bloody fine intellectual exercise. Meanwhile, where the hell is she? Who's got her? And why?'

His answer didn't help. 'We have a small population and a big country, Mr Sellers. There are more places to hide than could ever be searched.'

Àll right then. Let's start at the beginning. Who could have used her to bring something out of Russia?'

The question was rhetorical and stupid and a product of frustration. Schmid answered counting on his fingers. 'American, British to begin. Sweden, since this is where she came. France — we have Frenchmen, okay? The Russians themselves.'

`Why the Russians?'

`Who knows,' Schmid said, 'why the Russians do things?' Àll right. I'm sorry.'

`Do not be. We are not inactive, Mr Sellers. I wish you to believe that.'

Ì believe it. Can I see Alison's room?'

`No.'

`Why not?'

`Because that room isall we have. I have examined it. There appears to be nothing—'

`There may be something I'd notice that you wouldn't.'

Àgreed, Mr Sellers. But I think not. Understand please that my work is progressive. We find one thing, then another. Perhaps something in the room will be step two, useful when we have taken the first step.'

Àll the same —'

But he was wearying of it. He said, `Do the British police allow journalists to examine important evidence during an investigation? I think not. Neither do we.'

I left him then and set off back to the Scanda Hotel, walking for once. There was no hurry; there seemed to be nothing I could do. If Gothenburg's police hadn't been able to trace where Alsa went, the night she disappeared, it was unlikely I could. Equally, if they'd found no clue as to where she'd been taken, I hadn't much chance either. But the stuff locked up in her room was different and I wanted to see it. The more I thought about it, the more I was certain there'd be something there. Alsa had made the phone call to the police because she was scared. But at least she'd had time to make the phone call. But why had she made it from her room. Why hadn't she gone down to the lobby where there were people? Because she daren't? Because she knew somebody was waiting, either outside or in the adjoining rooms? She'd returned to the hotel, spent a while in her room, then rung the police. Why hadn't she telephoned immediately, the moment she'd come in. Why had she waited? Because something must have happened after she went to the room. Either that or she'd found something.

I knew Alsa. She might have been scared, but she wouldn't have panicked. She'd think, tightly and clearly, before she acted. She wouldn't reach instantly for the phone the way I would. Alsa used to tease me sometimes. You, she'd say, are a telephone reporter; too idle to use your feet. It wasn't entirely untrue.