Curtain of Fear (6 page)

A slight sweat broke out on Nicholas' forehead as he thought of that. War was war whichever side started it, and whatever their reason for doing so. Ever since he had been able to think clearly he had been an ardent pacifist, and the horror of the air-raids in the last conflict had made him positively fanatical on the subject. The next would be infinitely worse. It would mean the blotting out of whole cities, the slaughter of helpless people in their tens of thousands, and in most frightful circumstances. He recalled reading of the effects of the atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Its victims who had been blown to pieces had been fortunate; great numbers of survivors for miles around had died days and weeks later. Their hair and teeth had first fallen out and they had suffered the most frightful tortures from flash burns or internal injuries caused by gamma rays. A picture flashed into his mind of Wendy, stripped naked by the blast and screaming.

With terrible suddenness it was borne in upon him that it was he who now held this ghastly power in his hands. If he did nothing Bilto would give it to the Russians, but he could still step in and prevent that. It seemed to him that for a few moments
of time the future of the whole world lay in his keeping; that by acting or refraining from doing so, he must inevitably shape history for many generations to come. By his decision he might decree misery and death for countless fellow human beings, or spare them to live out their lives in peace and security. He wondered if such an appalling responsibility had ever been thrust on any man before.

Then his mind subconsciously took in the fact that the sounds of Bilto splashing in the basin next door had ceased. In a few minutes they would be face to face again. Half numbed with horror, he realised that he was not to be granted any time for calm, reasoned thought. The decision had to be taken—and taken swiftly.

Like a swimmer who fears he may drown before reaching the shore, he strove desperately to keep his head, to thrust out the nightmarish speculations that filled it, and make a final effort to concentrate on the choice of striking out or passive floating.

To prevent Bilto giving aid to the Russians would be to go against the principles that he had always cherished. That in itself was difficult enough; but the broader aspects of the problem dwarfed such a personal one into insignificance. The awful thing was that Bilto might be right about feeling in the United States. If he were and the war party there got the upper hand, the only thing that might prevent them from attacking the Russians was the knowledge that Bilto had taken the latest nuclear secrets over to them. On the other hand, if a crisis was approaching in the Kremlin, to let Bilto go ahead was to present them with a newly-sharpened sword, and tempt them to save themselves by using it. His palms sweating and and almost sick with horror, Nicholas faced the fact that whether he stopped Bilto or let him go, his decision might in either case equally well result in precipitating the most terrible war that man had ever known.

Bilto had dried his face and hands, and pulled the plug out of the basin. Nicholas could hear the water gurgling down the waste. In a frenzy he sought for some touch-stone which would resolve his doubts. Were the Americans, or the Russians, the
more honourable, restrained and humane? That was no good. It was part of his creed that race made no difference to the fundamental goodness or badness of people. From which side would an onslaught be least likely to prove disastrous to himself and Wendy? No! To think on those lines would be the lowest degree of baseness. In which event would Britain stand the best chance of survival? There could be no doubt about the answer to that; but could he, as an internationalist, honourably accept it as the deciding factor? He had reproached Bilto for his proposed betrayal of the country that had sheltered and fed him; but only half-heartedly, because he believed the well-being of any portion of the human race should always be sacrificed when it conflicted with the general interests of mankind. No. He must not allow himself to lapse into sentimental patriotism, because he happened to have been born British. What of his friends? They formed an infinitely smaller group, so the same argument applied to them. But was there not another that over-rode it; an obligation imposed by love of a few people that one knew intimately, and affection for many others, that transcended all demands made by the cold logic of intellect? Unless a man stood by his friends he was a mean and worthless being. He was on friendly terms with Hindus, Chinese and Negroes, as well as people of many European nationalities, all of whom were living in London and working for the cause. There were several of his fellow professors at Birmingham whom he liked and admired; quite a number of his old students still wrote to him in the friendliest way; and there was the present crowd, the majority of whom looked up to and trusted him. Again, as faces and figures raced through his mind, he visualised the blinding flash and deadly purple dust of the atom bomb that had been exploded over Hiroshima.

Suddenly his decision was taken. These people must be given the best chance to escape such an appalling fate. It was more likely to overtake them if Russia launched another war than if it was started by the United States. He must stop Bilto leaving England. But how?

Further argument was obviously futile. To call in the police
and have him arrested was unthinkable; for Bilto had trusted him, and to do so would be the worst possible form of betrayal. He could be leapt upon as he emerged from the bathroom and taken by surprise, overcome; but what then? To tie him up, then stand on guard over him indefinitely, was out of the question. To leave him there locked in his room would be only to postpone the issue.

In his agitated quest for a solution to this new and urgent problem, Nicholas had risen to his feet. His glance fell upon the dressing-table and remained fixed there. Among the papers Bilto had taken from his brief-case, several of which were still lying on it, was his passport. At the sight of it the thought flashed into Nicholas' mind that Bilto would not be able to leave England without it. In two strides he reached the dressing-table, snatched the passport up and thrust it in his pocket.

Had he delayed a minute longer he would have been caught in the act, for barely thirty seconds later Bilto emerged from the bathroom. He was carrying his sponge-bag and brushes, and with no more than a casual glance at Nicholas, he put them into his suit-case, then shut down the lid.

Nicholas' one anxiety now was to get away before Bilto discovered that his passport had been stolen. His hands felt clammy and his throat was as dry as if he had chain-smoked a hundred cigarettes. He hardly recognised his own voice as it rasped abruptly:

“Well, you're all packed up now, and I really must be going.”

Bilto did not appear to notice the sudden hoarseness of his cousin's voice, or the fact that his glance had become nervous and wavering. The last whisky had proved just one over the odds, so his perceptions were now dulled, his eyes a little bleary, and his movements beyond complete control.

“Good-bye, then,” he said a shade thickly. “If what I am about to do fails to prevent a show-down, I don't suppose anyone will get much warning that … that things are about to happen. Still, there is always a chance that you may just have time to see the red light. If … if you do, chuck everything,
skip to the continent and slip behind the Iron Curtain. We'll take good care of you if you manage to get through. But there … there is always the hope that America will stop sending dollar aid to Europe, and that these damn countries will go bust. Should that happen you'll be seeing me back again, and … and I'll get you made a Minister.”

“Thanks,” Nicholas managed to mutter. “Thanks very much.” And he found himself adding instinctively as they shook hands, “I hope everything will go all right for you.”

“Don't worry about me,” Bilto grinned, with the casual confidence inspired by the whisky he had drunk. “Take care of yourself, Nicky. And don't let that girl of yours pull the wool over your eyes about the rights and wrongs of things. We can't afford to lose a good man like you.”

“No, I won't let her do that,” Nicholas promised with a sickly smile as he turned away. He actually had his hand on the door-knob when, to his consternation, Bilto called him back.

“Hi! Half a minute. I'd forgotten.” As he spoke he swung about and walked quickly towards the dressing-table.

In an agony of apprehension, Nicholas remained by the door, his muscles tensed, his eyes riveted on his cousin's back. Every second he expected Bilto to notice that his passport had disappeared, but apparently he had forgotten that he had taken it from his brief-case. After fumbling in the case for a minute, he pulled out a thick wallet, opened it and thumbed five crisp five-pound notes off a hundred-pound wad. Turning, he strode back to Nicholas and held them out to him.

“Here. Take this! Little present! Buy yourself something when you get married.”

Flushing with shame, Nicholas shook his head and stammered,“No, really. It's too much—and you may need it.”

“Nonsense! It won't be much good to me this time tomorrow. On the rouble exchange one doesn't get much for pounds.” Bilto thrust the notes into Nicholas' unwilling hand.

“Thanks!” he blurted. “It's awfully good of you! So long, old chap!” Then, with crimson face, he pulled open the door,
stepped through it, and suppressing a gasp of relief, closed it behind him.

His mind still in a turmoil, he walked down the corridor. Bilto's last generous gesture had almost made him repent, but he told himself that it was absurd to allow the spontaneous act of a half-drunken man to weigh so much as a hair in the major issue. All the same, he was still by no means fully convinced that he had acted for the best.

As he went down in the lift, new qualms beset him. Had he really been right to allow his personal feelings for a small circle of people to govern his decision? Should he not have been prepared to sacrifice them as well as himself? After all, the Russians were the champions of everything that he believed in, and the Anglo-American capitalists were the enemy. Yet he had taken a step which would result in allowing the wrong side to retain an advantage that might tempt them to launch a war. And if war really was inevitable, whatever the cost, his creed dictated that he ought to aid Russia to win it. He suddenly felt that he must have been temporarily seized with a fit of madness. Still, he could go back to Bilto's room, confess what he had done, and restore the passport.

Although he had refused a drink from Bilto, on entering the Palm Court and seeing a number of people sitting there drinking he was seized with the thought that he wanted one desperately badly. Plumping himself down at a table near the orchestra, he told a passing waiter to bring him a double brandy, and soda. When it came he wondered why he had ordered brandy, as he ordinarily never drank it, but after a couple of gulps he felt a little steadier, and began to wrestle with the question of whether he should go up and return Bilto's passport, or stick to it.

After a few minutes, now that he was well away from Bilto, his ideas began to clarify. He decided that, as far as he was able to judge personally, Bilto had been wrong about the United States. Unquestionably there were quite a number of millionaire businessmen there who would welcome a war to destroy Communism; but the great majority of Americans must have had a bellyfull last time, so were most averse to having to leave their
homes again. It seemed very unlikely, too, that America would start a war without first having made certain that she could count on the active support of the British Commonwealth, and as Britain's geographical situation made her so vulnerable to an atomic war, she would never willingly agree to America launching one. Therefore, the only real menace to peace lay in Russia being driven to make a gambler's throw as the last hope of saving herself from economic disruption.

As he reached this conclusion he heaved a heavy sigh and took another drink. The decision he had taken had been the right one after all. He now felt really positive about that. He need no longer feel any qualms of conscience about having prevented Bilto going abroad by stealing his passport.

A minute later a thought came to him that, in view of his final conclusion, threw him into sudden panic. Had he really succeeded in preventing Bilto from going abroad? Bilto had said that he was soon to be picked up by a car, but he had not known from what airfield he was leaving, and earlier he had said he was ‘being flown to Prague'. Did that mean that he was not going by any orthodox route but from some small secret airfield that the Russians owned near the coast? If so, he would not need a passport. In a new fit of perturbation Nicholas realised that by stealing his cousin's passport he had not done enough. The ghastly responsibility for the future now once more rested with him. If he was to make certain that Bilto did not leave the country he must take some further step.

At that moment a page-boy passed through the lounge chanting shrilly, “Mister Nov-ák. Mister Nov-ák.”

On hearing his name Nicholas looked round automatically, beckoned the boy over to him and said, “Yes, I'm Mr. Novák.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied the boy. “The car you are expecting has called to pick you up.”

Nicholas was not expecting any car. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the boy that there must be some mistake. He had actually opened his mouth to do so, but he closed it again. Suddenly his brain had ceased its panic groping among a maze of possible courses to pursue, and clicked. The page supposed him to be Bilto, and the car was the one that had been sent to collect his cousin.

As the boy turned to recross the Palm Court, Nicholas followed, his mind once more down to earth. If he could get rid of the car, that might upset all the arrangements for Bilto's journey. Swiftly he began to assess the possible results of such a stroke.

Since Bilto had no idea of the place at which he was to board the aircraft he could not have himself driven to it in a hired car; and he had made it clear that he maintained only the most tenuous contact with the Russians. It was possible that he had been given a telephone number for use in an emergency, and might ring up when he got really worried by their failure to collect him. If so the check to his leaving would be only a temporary one. But it seemed more probable he would assume that the Russians had postponed the hour of his departure for good reasons of their own, and do nothing. He might even think that they had refrained from picking him up because they had discovered that he was being watched; in which case the odds were on his abandoning all thought of his journey and endeavouring to save his bacon by a swift return to Harwell.