High Citadel / Landslide (15 page)

Miss Ponsky turned pink again. ‘I saw him at the pond,’ she said in a subdued voice. ‘What are we having for lunch?’ she continued brightly.

Benedetta laughed. ‘As always—stew.’

Miss Ponsky shuddered delicately. Benedetta said, ‘It is all that Señor Willis brought from the camp—cans of stew. Perhaps it is his favourite food.’

‘He ought to have thought of the rest of us,’ complained Miss Ponsky.

Aguillar stirred. ‘What do you think of Señor Forester, madam?’

‘I think he is a very brave man,’ she said simply. ‘He and Señor Rohde.’

‘I think so too,’ said Aguillar. ‘But also I think there is something strange about him. He is too much the man of action to be a simple businessman.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Miss Ponsky demurred. ‘A good businessman must be a man of action, at least in the States.’

‘Somehow I don’t think Forester’s idea is the pursuit of the dollar,’ Aguillar said reflectively. ‘He is not like Peabody.’

Miss Ponsky flared. ‘I could spit when I think of that man. He makes me ashamed to be an American.’

‘Do not be ashamed,’ Aguillar said gently. ‘He is not a coward because he is an American; there are cowards among all people.’

O’Hara came back. He looked better now that he had shaved the stubble from his cheeks. It had not been easy; the clockwork rotary shaver had protested when asked to attack the thicket of his beard, but he had persisted and
was now smooth-cheeked and clean. The water in the pond had been too cold for bathing, but he had stripped and taken a sponge-bath and felt the better for it. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen Miss Ponsky toiling up the hill towards the shelter and hoped she had not seen him—he did not want to offend the susceptibilities of maiden ladies.

‘What have we got?’ he asked.

‘More stew,’ said Aguillar wryly.

O’Hara groaned and Benedetta laughed. He accepted the aluminium plate and said, ‘Maybe I can bring something else when I go up to the camp this afternoon. But I won’t have room for much—I’m more interested in the paraffin.’

Miss Ponsky asked, ‘What is it like by the river?’

‘Quiet,’ said O’Hara. ‘They can’t do much today so they’re contenting themselves with keeping the bridge covered. I think it’s safe enough for me to go up to the camp.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Benedetta quickly.

O’Hara paused, his fork in mid-air. ‘I don’t know if…’

‘We need food,’ she said. ‘And if you cannot carry it, somebody must.’

O’Hara glanced at Aguillar, who nodded tranquilly. ‘I will be all right,’ he said.

O’Hara shrugged. ‘It will be a help,’ he admitted.

Benedetta sketched a curtsy at him, but there was a flash of something in her eyes that warned O’Hara he must tread gently. ‘Thank you,’ she said, a shade too sweetly. ‘I’ll try not to get in the way.’

He grinned at her. ‘I’ll tell you when you are.’

Like Forester, O’Hara found the going hard on the way up to the camp. When he and Benedetta took a rest halfway,
he sucked in the thin, cold air greedily, and gasped, ‘My God, this is getting tough.’

Benedetta’s eyes went to the high peaks. ‘What about Miguel and Señor Forester? They will have it worse.’

O’Hara nodded, then said, ‘I think your uncle ought to come up to the camp tomorrow. It is better that he should do it when he can do it in his own time, instead of being chased. And it will acclimatize him in case we have to retreat to the mine.’

‘I think that is good,’ she said. ‘I will go with him to help, and I can bring more food when I return.’

‘He might be able to help Willis with his bits and pieces,’ said O’Hara. ‘After all, he can’t do much down at the bridge anyway, and Willis wouldn’t mind another pair of hands.’

Benedetta pulled her coat about her. ‘Was it as cold as this in Korea?’

‘Sometimes,’ O’Hara said. He thought of the stonewalled cell in which he had been imprisoned. Water ran down the walls and froze into ice at night—and then the weather got worse and the walls were iced day and night. It was then that Lieutenant Feng had taken away all his clothing. ‘Sometimes,’ he repeated bleakly.

‘I suppose you had warmer clothing than we have,’ said Benedetta. ‘I am worried about Forester and Miguel. It will be very cold up in the pass.’

O’Hara felt suddenly ashamed of himself and his selfpity. He looked away quickly from Benedetta and stared at the snows above. ‘We must see if we can improvise a tent for them. They’ll spend at least one night in the open up there.’ He stood up. ‘We’d better get on.’

The camp was busy with the noise of hammering and the trebuchet was taking shape in the central clearing between the huts. O’Hara stood unnoticed for a moment and looked at it. It reminded him very much of something he had once seen in an avant-garde art magazine; a modern sculptor had
assembled a lot of junk into a crazy structure and had given it some high-falutin’ name, and the trebuchet had the same appearance of wild improbability.

Forester paused and leaned on the length of steel he was using as a crude hammer. As he wiped the sweat from his eyes he caught sight of the newcomers and hailed them. ‘What the hell are you doing here? Is anything wrong?’

‘All’s quiet,’ said O’Hara reassuringly. ‘I’ve come for one of the drums of paraffin—and some grub.’ He walked round the trebuchet. ‘Will this contraption work?’

‘Willis is confident,’ said Forester. ‘That’s good enough for me.’

‘You won’t be here,’ O’Hara said stonily. ‘But I suppose I’ll have to trust the boffins. By the way—it’s going to be bloody cold up there—have you made any preparations?’

‘Not yet. We’ve been too busy on this thing.’

‘That’s not good enough,’ said O’Hara sternly. ‘We’re depending on you to bring the good old U.S. cavalry to the rescue. You’ve got to get across that pass—if you don’t, then this piece of silly artillery will be wasted. Is there anything out of which you can improvise a tent?’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ said Forester. ‘I’ll have a look around.’

‘Do that. Where’s the paraffin?’

‘Paraffin? Oh, you mean the kerosene. It’s in that hut there. Willis locked it up; he put all the booze in there—we had to keep Peabody sober somehow.’

‘Um,’ said O’Hara. ‘How’s he doing?’

‘He’s not much good. He’s out of condition and his disposition doesn’t help. We’ve got to drive him.’

‘Doesn’t the bloody fool realize that if the bridge is forced he’ll get his throat cut?’

Forester sighed. ‘It doesn’t seem to make any difference—logic isn’t his strong point. He goofs off at the slightest opportunity.’

O’Hara saw Benedetta going into one of the huts. ‘I’d better get that paraffin. We must have it at the bridge before it gets dark.’

He got the key of the hut from Willis and opened the door. Just inside was a crate, half-filled with bottles. There was a stir of longing in his guts as he looked at them, but he suppressed it firmly and switched his attention to the two drums of paraffin. He tested the weight of one of them, and thought, this is going to be a bastard to get down the mountain.

He heaved the drum on to its side and rolled it out of the hut. Across the clearing he saw Forester helping Benedetta to make a
travois
, and crossed over to them. ‘Is there any rope up here?’

‘Rope we’ve got,’ replied Forester. ‘But Rohde was worried about that—he said we’ll need it in the mountains, rotten though it is; and Willis needs it for the trebuchet, too. But there’s plenty of electric wire that Willis ripped out to make crossbow-strings with.’

‘I’ll need some to help me get that drum down the mountain—I suppose the electric wire will have to do.’

Peabody wandered over. His face had a flabby, unhealthy look about it and he exuded the scent of fear. ‘Say, what is this?’ he demanded. ‘Willis tells me that you and the spic are making a getaway over the mountains.’

Forester’s eyes were cold. ‘If you want to put it that way—yes.’

‘Well, I wanna come,’ said Peabody. ‘I’m not staying here to be shot by a bunch of commies.’

‘Are you crazy?’ said Forester.

‘What’s so crazy about it? Willis says it’s only fifteen miles to this place Altemiros.’

Forester looked at O’Hara speechlessly. O’Hara said quietly, ‘Do you think it’s going to be like a stroll in Central Park, Peabody?’

‘Hell, I’d rather take my chance in the mountains than with the commies,’ said Peabody. ‘I think you’re crazy if you think you can hold them off. What have you got? You’ve got an old man, a silly bitch of a school-marm, two nutty scientists and a girl. And you’re fighting with bows and arrows, for God’s sake.’ He tapped Forester on the chest. ‘If you’re making a getaway, I’m coming along.’

Forester slapped his hand away. ‘Now get this, Peabody, you’ll do as you’re damn well told.’

‘Who the hell are you to give orders?’ said Peabody with venom. ‘To begin with I take no orders from a limey—and I don’t see why you should be so high and mighty, either. I’ll do as I damn well please.’

O’Hara caught Forester’s eye. ‘Let’s see Rohde,’ he said hastily. He had seen Forester balling his fist and wanted to prevent trouble, for an idea was crystallizing in his mind.

Rohde was positively against it. ‘This man is in no condition to cross the mountains,’ he said. ‘He will hold us back, and if he holds us back none of us will get across. We cannot spend more than one night in the open.’

‘What do you think?’ Forester asked O’Hara.

‘I don’t like the man,’ said O’Hara. ‘He’s weak and he’ll break under pressure. If he breaks it might be the end of the lot of us. I can’t trust him.’

‘That’s fair enough,’ Forester agreed. ‘He’s a weak sister, all right. I’m going to overrule you, Miguel; he comes with us. We can’t afford to leave him with O’Hara.’

Rohde opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw the expression on Forester’s face. Forester grinned wolfishly and there was a hard edge to his voice when he said, ‘If he hold us up, we’ll drop the bastard into the nearest crevasse. Peabody will have to put up or shut up.’

He called Peabody over. ‘All right, you come with us. But let’s get this straight right from the start. You take orders.’

Peabody nodded. ‘All right,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll take orders from you.’

Forester was merciless. ‘You’ll take orders from anyone who damn well gives them from now on. Miguel is the expert round here and when he gives an order—you jump fast.’

Peabody’s eyes flickered, but he gave in. He had no option if he wanted to go with them. He shot a look of dislike at Rohde and said, ‘Okay, but when I get back Stateside the State Department is going to get an earful from me. What kind of place is this where good Americans can be pushed around by spics and commies?’

O’Hara looked at Rohde quickly. His face was as placid as though he had not heard. O’Hara admired his self-control—but he pitied Peabody when he got into the mountains.

Half an hour later he and Benedetta left. She was pulling the
travois
and he was clumsily steering the drum of paraffin. There were two loops of wire round the drum in a sling so that he could have a measure of control. They had wasted little time in saying goodbye to Rohde and Forester, and still less on Peabody. Willis had said, ‘We’ll need you up here tomorrow; the trebuchet will be ready then.’

‘I’ll be here,’ promised O’Hara. ‘If I haven’t any other engagements.’

It was difficult going down the mountain, even though they were on the road. Benedetta hauled on the
travois
and had to stop frequently to rest, and more often to help O’Hara with the drum. It weighed nearly four hundred pounds and seemed to have a malevolent mind of its own. His idea of being able to steer it by pulling on the wires did not work well. The drum would take charge and go careering at an angle to wedge itself in the ditch at the side of the road. Then it would be a matter of sweat and strain to get it out, whereupon it would charge into the opposite ditch.

By the time they got down to the bottom O’Hara felt as though he had been wrestling with a malign and evil adversary. His muscles ached and it seemed as though someone had pounded him with a hammer all over his body. Worse, in order to get the drum down the mountain at all he had been obliged to lighten the load by jettisoning a quarter of the contents and had helplessly watched ten gallons of invaluable paraffin drain away into the thirsty dust.

When they reached the valley Benedetta abandoned the
travois
and went for help. O’Hara had looked at the sky and said, ‘I want this drum at the bridge before nightfall.’

Night swoops early on the eastern slopes of the Andes. The mountain wall catches the setting sun, casting long shadows across the hot jungles of the interior. At five in the afternoon the sun was just touching the topmost peaks and O’Hara knew that in an hour it would be dark.

Armstrong came up to help and O’Hara immediately asked, ‘Who’s on watch?’

‘Jenny. She’s all right. Besides, there’s nothing doing at all.’

With two men to control the erratic drum it went more easily and they manoeuvred it to the bridgehead within half an hour. Miss Ponsky came running up. ‘They switched on their lights just now and I think I heard an auto engine from way back along there.’ She pointed downstream.

‘I would have liked to try and put out the headlamps on this jeep,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t want to waste an arrow—a quarrel—and in any case there’s something in front of the glass.’

‘They have stone guards in front of the lights,’ said Armstrong. ‘Heavy mesh wire.’

‘Go easy on the bolts, anyway,’ said O’Hara. ‘Peabody was supposed to be making some but he’s been loafing on the job.’ He carefully crept up and surveyed the bridgehead. The jeep’s headlights illuminated the whole bridge and its
approaches and he knew that at least a dozen sharp pairs of eyes were watching. It would be suicidal to go out there.

He dropped back and looked at the drum in the fading light. It was much dented by its careering trip down the mountain road but he thought it would roll a little farther. He said, ‘This is the plan. We’re going to burn the bridge. We’re going to play the same trick that we played this morning but we’ll apply it on this side of the bridge.’