No Mercy (47 page)

When the cargo had been loaded the empty trucks would
be driven a short distance along the coast road. At this point
the drivers would push them over the edge into the sea. Along this section of the coast Abdul had charts which
showed that the sea plunged immediately into deep water.
No trace of their operation would be left behind. They
would then board the freighter.

Tweed had reached the fork in the wide track. Warden had
taken the left fork, which eventually landed them on the
coast road. This time Tweed had taken the right fork where
a signpost pointed to Harmer's Head.

Proceeding along this road, he had driven slowly. A
careful examination of Ordnance Survey maps in his London
home had shown him a minor track leading off to the left -
to Harmer's Head.

He crawled, anxious not to miss the turning. Paula
frowned, looked at him. His expression was one of extreme
concentration. She began to worry.

'Do you know where we are? We've passed the road Warden turned on to a little way back.'

'I know. Now I'm looking for what will be a narrow lane
turning off to our left. Doubt if we'll get a comforting
signpost. We are really in the wilderness.'

'I thought we'd been there for some time. Bleak stretches
of scrubby moorland, a few rocks here and there, windblown gorse. I don't think anyone lives up here.'

'Who would want to?'

'Mind if I smoke a cigarette?' Marler called out from the
back. 'This is like the end of the world.'

'Go ahead,' Tweed answered automatically. 'I've got a window open.'

Paula heard faint mechanical noises, twisted round to see
what was causing them. Marler, an as yet unlit cigarette in his mouth, was checking the mechanism of his weapon.
Seeing her watching, he plunged a hand into a pocket, brought out an object Paula recognized. Marler grinned.

'An explosive bullet. Same type as blew Charmian's head
into pulp at Stonehenge.'

'Messy pulp,' she reminded him. 'I was the one who
cleaned up the side of the megalith.'

'And,' Marler said seriously, 'you were given that job to
take your mind off the appalling experience you'd been
through.'

'Well it worked,' she said, staring back at him. 'Because he
was such a beastly creature it didn't worry me at all getting rid of what was left of him . . . Stop! Turn left,' she shouted
as she gazed through the windscreen.

'I've seen it,' Tweed assured her. 'And there's a signpost.
To Harmer's Head.'

He signalled left to warn Harry behind him, then turned
slowly into a narrow lane with a wall of beaten-down gorse on both sides. There was barely room for the Land Rover to
squeak through. He just hoped the lane didn't narrow any
more before they reached their objective.

Paula switched on the radio after turning the volume
down. A weather forecast was just beginning. A major storm
was coming in from the southwest. Gales up to 80 m.p.h. The wind was already beating at the windscreen but so far
no rain. As he turned yet another corner Tweed saw a slight
rise ahead. He crawled over the top, braked. They had
reached the summit. Harmer's Head, guardian of this point
for over a hundred years, was less than fifty yards away.

It was massive, as large and high as four detached houses
merged together, the biggest chunk of granite Paula had ever
seen. Observed from below, when they had looked up from the coast road, she'd had no idea of its immensity. It was
roughly square in shape with one fairly flat side facing them.
No sign of the sea yet. Harmer blotted out the view. Tweed crawled forward over barren turf, parked behind the rock. Harry followed his example, parking alongside.

Marler dived out first, followed swiftly by Paula, while
Tweed switched off the engine. The moon was still out, not
yet masked by the armada of low black clouds sweeping in over the sea. Marler peered round one side of Harmer while
Paula did the same thing from the other distant side as she
was joined by Tweed.

Harry was hauling out heavy bags containing his armoury with the help of Pete Nield. They
staggered under the weight
to the shelter of the rock. Paula was amazed by what she saw
far below, using her monocular glass.

Even from that distance the freighter looked huge. It was moored fairly close to the platform projecting a short way out from the road. A landing stage, railed, with wheels,
connected it to the freighter from the mainland. Already the freighter was rising and falling as waves swept in from the
sea.

'It's not the right ship,' she gasped. 'The
Oran
had the
Liberian flag flying, this one has the flag of Panama. And it's
not
the
Oran
- it's the
Constantinel'

'So the skipper is cunning,' Tweed commented, staring
down through binoculars. 'The skipper
has
been cunning,
changing the flag in the Atlantic and putting men over the
side to paint out the original name and substitute
Constantine,
the name of a city in Algeria, up in the Atlas
Mountains.'

'But—' she began.

'Don't argue,' he chided. 'Observe. The freighter we saw
leaving the He des Oiseaux outside Marseilles had a large
square dent in its port bow. So has the vessel down there.
Must have hit a harbour wall somewhere. It
is
the same
freighter.'

'And it's going to put to sea soon,' she said. 'Look at the funnel.'

She was right. Black smoke was floating out of the top,
then was caught by the wind and described black
convolutions as it was blown all over the place. She looked
along the rock wall, saw Marler gesturing for them to come
quickly.

They rari towards him, under cover of Harmer. Behind
them Harry had hooked the strap of a bag over his shoulder,
followed by Nield, who was similarly encumbered. Both
hurried to join Marler.

'A view straight down here,' Marler told them. 'A lot of
activity. The crew are all Arabs, wearing headdresses. Loads
of crates on deck. I think they've finished unloading. One
crate's burst open, spilling missiles on the desk. Armed
missiles. A careless lot, some of these Arabs.'

He handed his binoculars to Paula. Tweed was staring down through his own pair. Harry dumped his cargo, took out a grenade, shook his head.

'Don't know how we're going to get at that lot. They're
too far away. What's that colossal boulder down there?'

'Toppling Rock,' Tweed told him. 'A huge thing. They say
if you lean against it the rock wobbles but never leaves its
perch.'

'Really?' Harry was fascinated. 'Must have a go . . .'

He was off before Tweed could stop him, warn him no
movement must be seen from the freighter. But Harry was smart. He crawled down a gully on his hands and knees,
moving almost as fast as a rabbit. Paula, fascinated, watched
him. Shielded by the rock, he stood up when he reached it,
heaved his whole weight against its side. It began to move seaward. Paula's hand flew to her throat as it shifted a foot.
Harry's expression was a picture. A look of disbelief mingled
with fear. He jerked his body away from it. Then Toppling
Rock settled back on the perch it had occupied for heaven
knew how long.

Paula wanted to burst into laughter. She rubbed a hand
across her mouth to stop that happening. Tweed was still
staring down through his binoculars. Marler, concealed
close to Harmer, was scanning every single foot of the
freighter through the telescopic sight of his Armalite.

'All this weaponry and it's useless,' Harry called out in his
frustration. 'Why the hell didn't I think to bring rocket launchers? They'd have reached the target.'

'You did all you could,' Paula said, squeezing his arm.

'There has to be a way,' Tweed persisted.

'Tell me then,' said Newman.

The storm clouds were very close but so far not a drop
of rain had fallen. Their gloom didn't help the morale of
the team. Tweed watched the landing gangway moving
up and down with the swell of the increasingly turbulent
sway.

Marler's Armalite was suddenly very still. He stared hard
at the telescopic sight. Had his eyes deceived him? No, they
hadn't. He checked again, adjusted the focus slightly.

Aboard the freighter Abdul had slipped inside the chart room. He was checking the devious route he must take to reach the small port in Angora where he would take his cargo. They were well organized at the other end of his
voyage.

Trucks would be waiting at the port. The missiles would
be transferred to the trucks. The
Constantine
would dock
after dark. The transfer to the trucks would be completed
well before dawn came.

It had even been arranged that the trucks would leave one
by one, with large gaps between their departure — as
opposed to a convoy of trucks. This was vital. An American
satellite passed over Angora regularly, photographing the whole area. The sight of a lone truck driving out into the
desert would mean nothing to the American analysts of the
pictures taken.

The trucks transporting the missiles from the port had been sprayed with a sticky substance, then sprayed again with sand. Seen from the air they would merge with the
desert.

Abdul emerged from the chart room, was annoyed to see
drivers onshore lazily clambering up into the cabs. He
wanted to be well away from the coast before the storm broke. He shouted, using the foulest language.

'Tell the truck drivers to move faster. They must dump the vehicles into the sea a short distance along the road. Then they must run back here and immediately board the
ship. If they delay departure I will have their heads.'

Marler was still checking through his telescopic sight. He
had already inserted the explosive bullet. Now he was
certain. An Arab on the deck was again carrying an
obviously heavy container painted yellow. He would move it
a few yards, then pause for breath. Marler checked once
more. No doubt about it.

Painted in large warning letters in English was one word
running round the surface of the whole container:
inflammable.
The Arab, taking a rest from his labours, had
planted the container down close to the crate which had
burst open, spilling missiles across the deck. Armed missiles,
as must be those in many other crates on deck.

Other Arabs were slowly carrying a crate to a platform,
which was obviously a lift descending into the hold.
Presumably the hold was already crammed with similar
crates.