Kronk

CHAPTER TWELVE

Throughout the night, the brothers Karamazov had been driving at high speed towards Scotland in a large covered road vehicle gaily labelled Cirque Russe. Every hundred kilometres they stopped the van and changed places, democratically taking turns at the wheel.

There was still a coolness between them; but the success of their smoothly executed animal snatches in Sussex and Hampstead had briefly reduced the quotient of mutual mistrust.

It was Ilyich who had conceived the plan for stealing the animals; but it was Peter who had thought of hiring a small Scottish castle where they could be hidden in splendid seclusion. It was Ilyich who had obtained the van; but it was Peter who had invented the Cirque Russe.

And it was a combined operation that had yielded the means of entry to the zoo in Sussex and the house in Hampstead; for both of them had raided Dr. Slink’s office in Lulu Tower. Peter had discovered a set of keys to the Sussex zoo, and Ilyich had found a copy of Professor Greylaw’s thumb print in the personnel files.

In retrospect it all seemed like a subtle harmony of motion, like the old days when, working as one, the brothers Karamazov could whip up an instant brush-fire war in the near east or depose a European premier in twenty-four hours from a cold start. Glancing at Ilyich, Peter was almost tempted, as a renewal of faith, to drop the idea of a second Swiss numbered account. But then he recollected once again that Ilyich had a) denied killing Professor Greylaw and b) denied hearing his last words. Again Peter was saddened. There would have to be a second account. If one could not absolutely trust one’s identical twin, who in this world could one possibly trust?

The night’s drive was fairly uneventful, except that now and then the Cirque Russe had to slow down or take small diversiions because of multiple crashes, chiefly in the hover lanes, and the occasional pitched battles between procs, meds and bounty hunters.

Most bounty teams operated from high-speed hover wagons; but a few adventurous spirits took the risk of using unlicensed choppers. The really experienced ones could spot a pile-up, drop down, lift the bodies or parts thereof and pull out in little more than three or four minutes. A healthy body with, say, no major organ damage except a scrambled brain, could be worth four thousand pounds in a bulk sale or five thousand in a carve up.

As he watched with professional interest a team of bounty hunters swarm like uniformed locusts over the wreckage of two overturned ground cars and extract three limp bodies before the wheels had stopped spinning, Ilyich reflected that if the bottom ever fell out of the spy market he and Peter, with their talent for organization, would not be without a means of livelihood. But then a shadow came over his face as he thought of Peter. Could Peter still be trusted? How much reliance could one place on a man who, without any provocation, had suddenly become suspicious of his brother? Ilyich signed regretfully for the fine thing that was now dead. Peter had changed. He had become withdrawn. Perhaps he was planning some kind of double-cross in Scotland. Well, two could play at that game. But that a Karamazov should have to think in terms of protecting himself against a Karamazov. The world was growing older, values were crumbling, there was little that one could believe in any more…

Shortly before dawn, the Cirque Russe turned off the Great North Transit and eventually rolled to a halt in a deserted Yorkshire lane. It was time for the brothers to get some rest. Also, assuming the theft of the animals to have been discovered and assuming their significance to be known or suspected by someone in MicroWar, it would be wiser to lie low during the daylight hours.

The animals were whining miserably in the large van. When he went to inspect them, Peter discovered that one of the panthers had what looked incredibly like tearstains on its face.

Moved with pity, he tried to comfort it; but the beast cringed away, and confidence was only partly restored when Ilyich began to dole out the rations of meat.

The lamb they had picked up at Hampstead had become oddly aggressive and was terrifying a poor Bengal tiger. The rabbit disdained its lettuce, and the squirrel would not look at its nuts. Still, minor problems were to be expected. The animals would doubtless settle down when they got to the castle.

After Peter and Ilyich had seen to their charges, they closed the sliding doors in the great van and returned to the control cab to take their own breakfast.

They ate in silence for a while, then Peter said abruptly: “What is the deal, brother?”

Ilyich regarded him suspiciously. “Did we not agree on the simultaneous approach, brother?”

“Yes, Ilyich. But we do not know the precise value of the animals. We only know that they are the result of MicroWar’s Project Tranquillity… Unless you are hiding something.”

“I am hiding nothing,” said Ilyich hotly. “But any fool would realize that we have a highly marketable commodity. If that kind of thing can be done to animals, it can also be done to humans. It is for the scientists to discover the mechanism.”

“Russian or American?”

“As we agreed — the simultaneous approach. You will tell Cominunder that Socinunder has Tranquillity. I will tell Socinunder that Cominunder has Tranquillity. And each of us will say that the other agent can be bought. Then we shall see.”

“Then we shall see,” echoed Peter darkly. “As before, the Swiss account?”

“Certainly, whoever collects will use the Swiss account for a half share.”

Peter was silent for a moment or two. Then he said softly: “I think I am no longer happy about the Swiss account, brother.”

Ilyich whitened. He went red, he felt sick, he felt cold. It was out in the open now. He felt surreptitiously for his ice-needle gun. Peter had obviously rigged something.

Peter saw Ilyich fumbling, and smiled cynically. He already had a small freezair pencil concealed in his hand. He squirted at Ilyich. Ilyich froze. Peter removed the ice-needle gun from his brother’s clenched hand.

“You see, I was right not to trust you, brother. You obviously had something rigged.”

If he had been able to speak, Ilyich would have voiced precisely the same sentiments.