The Keys of Hell
Super-spy Paul Chavasse – one of Jack Higgins’s most extraordinary heroes – embarks on a mission to Albania, only to find himself at the centre of a deadly double-cross, fighting for his life.It’s a trip that agent Paul Chavasse will never forget. His destination: the isolated republic of Albania on the Adriatic coast, at a time when the regime is at its most repressive and the people live in daily fear of the ruthless secret police. His job: to find a double agent whose cover has been blown and put him out of commission, permanently. But what Chavasse doesn’t know is that deep within the twisting channels of the perilous coastal marshes, someone has set a trap for him – someone who holds the keys of hell.
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JACK
HIGGINS
THE KEYS
OF HELL
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
Special overseas edition 2001
This edition 2002
Published simultaneously in hardback by
HarperCollinsPublishers
First published in the USA by
Berkley Books 2001
Copyright © Harry Patterson 2001
Jack Higgins asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780006514671
Ebook Edition © JULY 2015 ISBN: 9780008159122
Version: 2015-07-31
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
THE KEYS OF HELL was first published in the UK by Abelard-Schuman, London, in 1965 under the authorship of Martin Fallon. The author was, in fact, the writer familiar to modern readers as Jack Higgins. Martin Fallon was one of the names he used during his early writing days. The book was later published in paperback by Coronet Books – under the authorship of Jack Higgins – but it has been out of print for several years.
In 2001, it seemed to the author and his publishers that it was a pity to leave such a good story languishing on his shelves. So Jack Higgins has created an entirely new framework to the original book, added some scenes and made some changes throughout. We are delighted to be able to bring back THE KEYS OF HELL for the pleasure of the vast majority of us all who never had a chance to read the original edition.
CONTENTS
The dream was always the same. Plunging into the marsh, forcing his way through the reeds and mist, pushing the punt hard, Guilio Orsini standing at the front finding the way through and then the engine close by breaking into life and a burst of machine-gun fire.
Guilio went over head-first, always did, and Chavasse floundered through the reeds and the bitterly cold water and then, mysteriously, like a curtain, the reeds parted and there was the lagoon and the boat, the Buona Esperanza, and Orsini was at the rail leaning over, a hand outstretched.
‘Now, Paul, now.’
And Chavasse reached and the mist seemed to increase and there was the roaring of the engine and the boat slapped away, vanished, and he was alone again.
Chavasse was subject to dreams of the past, and had always suspected it was a legacy of his Breton father. An old race, the Bretons, an ancient people. But this dream he had not had for some years. Still … he got off the bed, went to the window of his suite and looked down at Manhattan. The lights sparkled in the evening dusk. He liked New York and always had. There as an excitement there, an infinite probability to things.
When the phone went he answered at once, ‘Chavasse.’
‘Ah, Sir Paul. Tino Rossi.’
‘Good evening, Mr Rossi.’
‘Listen, I know we’re meeting later for dinner at the Saddle Room, but I wondered whether you’d mind coming round to my apartment at the Trump Tower first.’
‘Is there a purpose to this?’
‘Well, my lawyer, Mario Volpe, as you may know, is my nephew a couple of times removed. He seems to think there are a few things he could take care of before our meeting. You understand?’
‘Perfectly,’ Chavasse said.
‘I’ll send a limousine. Say half an hour?’
‘No need. As it’s only a couple of blocks, I’ll walk.’
‘Fine. I’ll look forward to seeing you for dinner later.’
Chavasse put down the phone and thought about it, a slight frown on his face, then he went to the wardrobe, took out his rather old-fashioned carpet bag, pulled open a flap in the bottom and produced a short-barrelled Colt, only a .22, but deadly with hollow-point rounds. He checked it out, went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
In the magnificent sitting room of his Trump Tower apartment Don Tino Rossi replaced the telephone. He was seventy-six years of age and still in good shape, his silver hair almost shoulder-length, his linen suit the best that Savile Row could provide.
