Bloody Passage (v5) (14 page)

"Husseini!" he called at the top of his voice.

Simone darted up a flight of stone steps to a higher level, keeping to the wall. Up there she was in total darkness and when she looked down she saw Sergeant Husseini quite clearly doubling across the square. He was stripped to the waist and had no boots on.

She started to feel her way up another flight of stone steps cautiously and the sounds of activity in the courtyard below increased so that by the time she had reached the next level there were at least two dozen soldiers down there in the courtyard. And then, to her dismay, a voice called out in Arabic somewhere high above her, a torch was switched on and someone started to come down.

She descended the steps as quickly as the darkness allowed, pausing only when she reached the lower level, for to go down into the courtyard was to invite certain capture.

There was an iron rail. She leaned against it, looking about her desperately, aware of the sound of boots descending the steps above her and then she noticed the roof of one of the trucks four or five feet below, projecting from inside some sort of shed.

It was her only hope and as the steps grew nearer, she slipped under the rail, dropped onto the canvas roof, crawled inside the overhang and lay down. She looked at her watch. It was almost ten o'clock. She took the Ceska from her handbag, held it in her left hand, finger on the trigger, and waited, face against the canvas, while they beat the yard for her below.

It was eleven o'clock before they gave up, half-past before she could be sure. She lay there waiting, listening to the silence, trying to satisfy herself as to its totality before finally crawling back outside, reaching up for the railings and pulling herself up onto the landing. She barely hesitated before starting up the next flight of steps.

Time was of the essence now and it occurred to her that Grant and the others, ready and waiting for at least two hours on the beach, could only be imagining the worst.

It started to rain quite heavily as she went up the last few steps to the ramparts of the north wall. She hesitated, keeping to the shadows for a moment. There was a lamp of some sort twenty or thirty yards further on. A soldier stood beside it sheltering in the corner where two walls joined.

There was no sign of the other sentry which was unfortunate, but further delay was impossible so she stepped out of the shadows. As she walked, she unfastened the front of the burnous so that it fell open.

At the sound of her approach, the sentry came to life and moved into the open, his AK assault rifle at the ready. He lowered it just as quickly, his mouth gaping, for now she had moved into the area of light and made a reasonably spectacular figure in the flowing, hooded mantle and brief mini skirt.

He spoke to her in Arabic and she answered in Italian, "Hello, darling, got a cigarette?"

He hesitated then produced a packet from his tunic pocket and said, "What are you doing up here?"

"Oh, I was with one of the sergeants. He was drunk and I got bored so I thought I'd look for a little fresh air."

She leaned back against the wall, raising one knee slightly, arching her body provocatively. He moved a little closer, a glazed look in his eyes and put a hand on her right thigh. At the same moment the other sentry appeared from the darkness a few yards away.

He called out in Arabic. Simone leaned forward, cupped her hand very deliberately between the first sentry's legs, and breathed in his ear. "Can't you send him away for a while?"

The sentry didn't even hesitate. He propped his AK in an angle in the wall, turned, and advanced on his comrade. There was a rapid conversation in low tones, a certain amount of arm-waving, and the second sentry turned and disappeared into the darkness.

He turned and came toward her. "We're entitled to coffee at this time of night," he said. "He's gone to get it. I've told him to take his time."

"That's good," she said, producing the Ceska from her handbag and cocking it. "Now, do exactly as you're told and you'll be all right."

He stood very still for a long, long moment, staring at her and then he threw back his head and laughed and came forward.

"No," she said, panic moving inside her. "Please!" And she was holding the Ceska in both hands.

He looked angry now, teeth bared wolfishly, and reached out to grab, leaving her very little choice. She pulled the trigger, the silenced Ceska coughed once in the heavy rain. A hole appeared an inch above the right eye, he staggered back over the platform edge and disappeared into darkness.

It was like a dream barely remembered on waking and already fading as she turned, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat. She picked up her handbag and hurried back along the ramparts out of the circle of light, stopping where a half turret, which had once obviously housed a gun, projected into space.

She pulled up her dress and unwound the two-hundred-foot line of thin twine as fast as she could, turning herself again and again until she was dizzy. It took far longer than she had imagined and by the time it was finally free she was sweating heavily and quite exhausted. When she took the torch from her handbag and threaded the end of the twine through the wire loop, her fingers trembled.

She paused, listening hard, but there was still no sign of the other sentry returning and she leaned out of one of the embrasures in the turret, switched on the torch, and started to lower it.

There wasn't much left in hand when there was a sudden sharp tug that almost had it through her fingers although as she'd looped the end round her waist she couldn't have lost it altogether. She waited. After a while there was another sharp tug and she started to haul in the line.

In a surprisingly short space of time the end of the main climbing rope appeared. Nino had spliced the end into a large loop which she dropped over one of the stone columns between two of the embrasures.

There was a long pause. She waited, shaking like a leaf, suddenly ice-cold in the driving rain, reaction, she supposed.

A cheerful voice said, "Heh, angel, you're a sight for sore eyes," and Nino hauled himself in through the embrasure.

She hugged him eagerly. "Is everything all right?"

"Sure." He busied himself unloading the large rucksack he'd carried on his back as well as his rifle. "You had us worried."

He had the second coil of climbing rope in his hand already and was paying it out into the darkness. "What happens now?" she said.

"They climb the main rope and I help them on the way with this."

"Will it be all right?"

He grinned, his teeth white in the darkness. "What the English climbers in the Alps call a piece of cake."

She pulled the burnous closer about her, shivering in that driving rain, watching as Nino brought the rope in slowly and steadily over his left shoulder and under the right arm. He only stopped once and then for no more than a second or two and then, quite suddenly, another dim figure appeared in the embrasure.

She moved forward uncertainly. "Are you all right?"

"Simone?" A familiar voice said, and Grant reached out through the darkness, pulling her close, holding her to him. It was only then that she stopped shaking.

11
To the Dark Tower

I
t was Barzini who first saw the lighted torch bobbing down on the end of the line no more than forty or fifty feet to the right of us. I don't think I've ever experienced a feeling of such profound relief. She was all right--that was my first and most immediate thought.

We gathered up the equipment between us and moved into position. Nino himself uncoiled the climbing rope and attached it to the line. He gave a tug, the agreed signal, and it was immediately drawn up.

"What in the hell took her so long?" Langley whispered.

Not that he could have expected an answer. I said, "Does it matter? She made it, didn't she?"

Nino was busy getting his rucksack on. He slung his rifle over his back and tested the rope. He grinned and put a hand on my shoulder. "Okay, here we go. Pray for me."

From the sound of it the young devil was enjoying himself. A stone rattled under his boot and a moment later he had disappeared upward into the darkness.

I had expected a lengthy wait and was caught unaware when the second rope snaked down over the rocks and fell across my shoulders. I was next in line, Langley to follow, with Barzini bringing up the rear. I tied the rope securely about my waist with a running bowline and gave a tug. The slack was immediately taken up and I reached for the main climbing rope.

"Good luck," Barzini whispered and I started to climb.

It was something of an anticlimax. For one thing, as Nino had said, it was better in the darkness because if you looked down there was nothing to see anyway so there was not even an illusion of height and the cliff was much easier than Zingari had suggested--a gradual incline with a broken surface of granite and basalt that gave good footholds in spite of the rain. And the safety line was of tremendous assistance, Nino pulling on it so strongly that most of the time it felt as if I was being hauled up, no strain on the arms at all.

I paused only once as I went over the edge of the cliff itself and found myself on a ledge beneath the wall. He started to pull again and it was only then in scaling the final thirty feet or so that I felt any strain on the arms at all.

A few moments later I scrambled in through the embrasure and found myself on firm ground inside the turret.

There were two figures, dimly seen. Simone said, "Are you all right?"

I reached forward and pulled her into my arms.

Langley was with us in a matter of minutes. Barzini was more of a problem and in the end had the three of us on the rope hauling him by brute force. We dragged him in through the embrasure and he fell on his hands and knees, panting for breath.

"Mother of God," he whispered. "Never again-never in this world."

I helped him to his feet and as he untied himself Nino said urgently, "Someone's coming."

"The other sentry," Simone said.

"What did you do with the first?" Langley asked her.

"I had to shoot him."

"Did you, by God." There was something close to admiration in Langley's voice. He said, "I'll handle this, old stick," and slipped off.

The sentry stood under the lamp a few yards away calling softly in Arabic. He started toward us uncertainly and Langley moved out of the darkness behind him and put a hand over the man's throat. A knife blade gleamed dully in the yellow light, the sentry grunted, and Langley dragged him back into the shadows.

He was whistling softly between his teeth when he rejoined us. "All light, old stick," he said cheerfully. "What's next?"

"Masmoudi," I said, and led the way along the ramparts until we could look down into the lighted courtyard below. "That's his house on the other side of the square."

"I've already been there once tonight," Simone said and quickly explained what had happened.

When she was finished, I said, "All right, we'll go in as arranged, looking like some duty detail--Langley up front in case his Arabic is needed, Simone in the center." I put a hand on her arm. "If anyone's around to see it will look as if you're in custody, although from the sound of it, I'd say the garrison's likely to be occupied in other matters tonight."

We went down the series of stone steps that led to the courtyard, moved into the temporary shelter of the parked truck and took up position. Then I simply gave a whispered command and we struck off across the square, Langley leading.

The rain hammered down, bouncing from the cobbles. We didn't see a soul, although the sentry on the wall above the main gate must have seen us unless he was sheltering from the downpour. Just in case, I gave Simone the occasional rough push on the way across to make it look good.

Langley opened the gate and we moved through the garden and up the steps to the veranda. The shutters were closed and Langley leaned down and peered through the slats.

He turned and said with a grin, "He would appear to be occupied."

I looked for myself. Masmoudi was sitting stripped to the waist and drinking a glass of champagne. The woman who lay stretched out on the divan beside him, one knee raised, was down to her underwear.

I nodded to Barzini, who waited, a hand on the door knob. It opened to his touch, he moved in quickly, covering Masmoudi with his assault rifle and the rest of us crowded in after him.

Masmoudi didn't even blink. He sat there, the glass of champagne in his hand, looking us over and then he smiled at Simone. "So there you are, little flower." He spoke to her in French. "I said you had depths."

"Let's stick to Italian," I told him. "That way we'll all stay happy."

The woman on the divan opened her mouth as if to scream and Langley jammed a hand over it. "You mustn't do that," he said. "Very naughty."

She was probably no more than twenty-seven or eight but had definitely seen better days. Simone said, "Was she all you could get?"

Masmoudi sighed. "One has to do the best one can. It's not often that one like you comes our way out here in the wilderness, little flower. I should have known it was too good to be true."

She seemed amused. "You could have looked a little harder."

"Ah, but you see, I thought you'd run off with one of my men. I decided that must be the real reason you'd come in with the usual rabble. I intended to parade every man in the place in the morning and keep them out there on the square until I got to the bottom of the matter."

The woman on the divan groaned. Langley pulled her up by the hair and dragged her across to a closet. "Now be a good girl and shut up," he said cheerfully. "If you don't I'll cut your throat."

He shoved her inside the closet, closed the door then walked back to the table and helped himself to a glass of champagne. "Life really is full of pleasant surprises," he said. "This is good. Very, very good."

"But hardly the reason for such enterprise," Masmoudi said. "To what do I owe this rather dubious pleasure?"

"You have a prisoner here," I told him. "A young American named Wyatt."

He showed no particular reaction. "So?"

"We want him."

"Ah, I see now. And if I comply? What then?"

"We drive out through that gate with you along for insurance. Not far. Just a few miles up the coast."

"And what happens there?"

"We head out to sea, back where we came from, and you can do what you damn well please."

"With a bullet in the head?"

"No percentage in it. What would be the point?"

"It sounds plausible enough when you put it like that." He reached for his shirt. "What happens if I refuse?"

Nino took an ivory Madonna from his pocket. When he pressed the feet, a wicked-looking stiletto jumped into view. "Ingenious," Masmoudi said. "But then the Italians have always been culturally inclined, even in matters of violence."

"First the right ear, then the left," Nino said. "Do we understand each other?"

"Perfectly."

Masmoudi reached for the telephone and Langley said, "I should point out that I speak rather good Arabic, so behave yourself."

"I always do, my friend, especially in situations like this, I assure you."

He spoke briefly into the telephone in Arabic and replaced the receiver. Langley said, "He spoke to the guardroom. Told them to get a Sergeant Husseini to collect convict eight-thirty-three from the special block and bring him here."

I said, "This special block. Is that as bad as it sounds?"

"Your friend Wyatt has been a little difficult," Masmoudi said. "You know how it is with these young men these days. Nothing but long hair and rebellion."

"Funny talk coming from a Marxist."

"Ah, but then we have the only true answer," he said. "Everything else has been tried."

It was a superbly arrogant remark and delivered with a smile of considerable charm so that I didn't know whether to take him seriously or not.

He patted the divan beside him and said to Simone, "A glass of champagne while we're waiting."

"I'd rather have a brandy." For the first time I noticed that she was trembling slightly.

He stood up, quite unconcerned, went to a cupboard in one corner, produced a cut-glass decanter and a glass, filled it and brought it to her. She took it gratefully and thanked him.

He put a hand on her shoulder, "You are soaked to the skin, little flower. Permit me."

He moved to the closet into which Langley had pushed the whore, opened it, giving us a further brief glimpse of her, took out a military greatcoat with a sheepskin collar and closed the door again on the startled woman.

He held the coat open for Simone, a slight smile on his face, and she stood up, took off her wet burnous, and pulled it on. Again she smiled her gratitude.

"Heh, I like that," Barzini said, and he helped himself to the brandy. "He knows how to treat a lady. He's been well brought up."

I was aware of a vague irrational annoyance. The whole thing was really becoming quite farcical, and then there was the rasp of feet on the terrace outside and a knock on the door.

Everyone scattered, taking up positions quickly and I nodded to Masmoudi. He called out in Arabic. The door opened and a prisoner in striped cotton pajamas and leg irons was propelled into the room with such force that he fell on his knees. The sergeant who moved in behind him was an enormous black-bearded man and I knew this must be Husseini.

Nino kicked the door shut and rammed the muzzle of his AK into Husseini's ribs and I reached over and lifted the service revolver from his holster. Like his master, he showed no great emotion. A dour, implacable man who took in the situation calmly and clasped his hands behind his neck when Langley told him to.

The man in the striped pajamas was in a bad way and had obviously recently had a severe beating. His right cheek was split so that it really required two or three stitches and a nasty green bruise ran up into the eye.

I dropped to one knee beside him. "Stephen Wyatt?"

"That's right." His voice was hoarse and broken and he appeared dazed. More than that, there was genuine fear in his eyes.

"It's all right," I said. "You've nothing to worry about. Not any more. We've come to get you out."

"Out?" he said slowly. "Out of prison, you mean? I don't understand."

It was as if everything about him, each sense, had been dulled at the edges. I said, "You don't need to," and I looked up at Masmoudi. "Let's have these leg irons off."

He gave Husseini a brief order in Arabic and the big sergeant produced a key and leaned down to take off the irons. Wyatt shrank away from him which told its own story. I pulled him to his feet and he stood there, swaying, a look of complete bafflement on his face.

I said to Masmoudi, "Right, we're going to leave now. Tell Husseini to help the boy across the square. We all leave in the one truck. You drive, Aldo. I'll sit up front with you and we'll have the colonel between us. The rest of you in the back." I turned again to Masmoudi. "You're going to take us straight through the front gate. Understand?"

"Perfectly."

He spoke again in Arabic to Husseini who, dour as ever, showed no emotion, but simply got an arm round Wyatt and moved to the door. Nino opened it for them, I stood back and motioned Masmoudi and Simone through and the rest of us followed.

It was still raining as we went down the path. Husseini opened the gate and started through with Wyatt; Masmoudi stood to one side for Simone. "After you, little flower."

She smiled in spite of herself, moving to pass him, and with a courtly smile still on his lips, he pushed her into me with all his force, jumped into the bushes and ran like hell, calling to Husseini at the same time. Wyatt came staggering back through the gate and Husseini took off across the square, zig-zagging furiously to avoid the possibility of a bullet in the back.

Not that there seemed much point. I grabbed Wyatt by one arm, "Right, make for those trucks while there's still time."

I was kidding myself, of course, for as we ran out of the gate and started across the square, four or five soldiers rushed out of the guardroom by the main gate.