Partisans (14 page)

‘It's all right,' she said. ‘It really is. They don't understand. I do.'

Ten minutes later Petersen and his two companions arrived. Petersen was driving an elderly truck, civilian not army, with a hooped canvas roof and canvas flaps at the rear. Petersen jumped down from the driving seat and looked at the five on the deck of the
Colombo
– Carlos, Giacomo, Lorraine, Michael and Sarina, the last four with their rucksacks and radios beside them.

‘Well, we're ready when you are,' Petersen said. He seemed in excellent spirits. ‘We'll just come aboard for our gear.'

‘No need,' Carlos said. ‘The two Pietros are bringing that.'

‘And our guns?'

‘I wouldn't want you to feel undressed.' Carlos led the way down the gangway. ‘How did things go?'

‘Couldn't have been better. Very friendly, cooperative and helpful.' He produced two papers. ‘A military pass and a permit for me to drive this vehicle. Only as far as Metkovi
but it will at least get us on the way. Both signed by Major Massamo. Would you two young ladies come up front with me? It's much more comfortable and the cab is heated. The back is not.'

‘Thank you,' Lorraine said. ‘I'd rather sit in the back.'

‘Oh, no, she wouldn't,' Sarina said. ‘I'm not putting up with this walking inquisition all by myself.' She took Lorraine's arm and whispered in her ear while Petersen lifted patient eyes to heaven. At first Lorraine shook her head vigorously, then reluctantly nodded.

They shook hands with Carlos, thanked him and said goodbye. All except Lorraine – she just stood there, her eyes on the dockside. Carlos looked at her in exasperation then said: ‘All right. You upset me and I, forgetting that I'm supposed to be an officer and a gentleman, upset you.' He put his arm round her shoulders, gave her a brief hug and kissed her none too lightly on the cheek. ‘That's by way of apology and goodbye.'

Petersen started up the rather asthmatic engine and drove off. The elderly guard at the gate ignored Petersen's proffered papers and lackadaisically waved them on: he probably didn't want to leave the brazier in his sentry-box. As he drove on, Petersen glanced to his right. Lorraine, at the far end of the seat was staring straight ahead: her face was masked in tears. Petersen, frowning, leaned forward and sideways but was brought up short by a far from gentle elbow in the ribs. Sarina, too, was frowning and giving an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Petersen looked at her questioningly, got a stony glance in return and sat back to concentrate on his driving.

In the back of the truck, already heavily polluted by George's cigars, Giacomo kept glancing towards the tarpaulin-covered heap in the front. Eventually, he tapped George on the arm.

‘George?'

‘Yes.'

‘Have you ever seen a tarpaulin moving of its own accord?'

‘Can't say that I have.'

‘Well, I can see one now.'

George followed the direction of the pointing finger. ‘I see what you mean. My goodness, I hope they're not suffocating under that lot.' He pulled back the tarpaulin to reveal three figures lying on their sides, securely bound at wrists and ankles and very effectively gagged. ‘They're not suffocating at all. Just getting restless.'

The light inside the back of the truck was dim but sufficient to let Giacomo recognize the elderly soldier and his very junior partner who had come aboard earlier in the morning to collect Petersen and the other two. ‘And who's the other person?'

‘Major Massamo. Commandant – Deputy Commandant, I believe – of the port.'

Michael, seated with Alex on the opposite side of the truck, said: ‘Who are those people? What are they doing here? Why are they tied up?' The questions didn't betray any real interest: the voice was dull as befitted one still in a state of dazed incomprehension. They were the first words he had spoken that day: sea-sickness and the traumatic experience he had undergone during the night had wrought their toll to the extent that he had not even been able to face breakfast.

‘The Port Commandant and two of his soldiers,' George said. ‘They are here because we couldn't very well leave them behind to raise the alarm the moment we were gone, and we couldn't very well shoot them, could we? And they're bound and gagged because we couldn't very well have them raising a song and dance on the way out of the harbour. You do ask stupid questions, Michael.'

‘This is the Major Massamo that Major Petersen mentioned? How did you manage to get him to sign those permits you have?'

‘You, Michael, have a suspicious mind. It doesn't become you. He didn't sign them. I did. There were lots of notices in his room all signed by him. You don't have to be a skilled forger to copy a signature.'

‘What's going to happen to them?'

‘We will dispose of them at a convenient time and place.'

‘Dispose of them?'

‘They'll be back in Plo
e, safe and unharmed, this evening. Good heavens, Michael, you don't go around shooting your allies.'

Michael looked at three bound and gagged men. ‘Yes. I see. Allies.'

They were stopped at roadblocks at the next two villages but the questioning was very perfunctory and routine. At the third village, Bagalovi
, Petersen pulled up by a temporary army filling station, descended, gave some papers to the corporal in attendance, waited until the truck had been fuelled, gave the corporal some money for which he was rewarded by a surprised salute, then drove off again.

Sarina said: ‘They don't look like soldiers to me. They don't behave like soldiers. They seem so – so – what is the word? – apathetic.'

‘A marked lack of enthusiasm, agreed. Their behaviour doesn't show them up in the best of light, does it? The Italians can, in fact, be very very good soldiers, but not in this war. They have no heart for it, in spite of Mussolini's stirring, martial speeches. The people didn't want this war in the first place and they want it less and less as time goes by. Their front-line troops fight well enough, but not from patriotism, just professional pride. But it's convenient for us.'

‘What were those papers you gave to that soldier?'

‘Diesel coupons. Major Massamo gave them to me.'

‘Major Massamo gave them to you. Free fuel, of course. That tip you handed to the soldier. I suppose Major Massamo gave you the money as well?'

‘Of course not. We don't steal.'

‘Just trucks and fuel coupons. Or have you just borrowed those?'

‘Temporarily. The truck, anyway.'

‘Which, of course, you will return to Major Massamo?'

Petersen spared her a glance. ‘You're supposed to be apprehensive, nervous, not full of nosey questions. I don't much care to be cross-examined. We're supposed to be on the same side, remember? As for the truck, I'm afraid the Major won't be seeing it again.'

They drove on in silence and after another fifteen minutes ran into the town of Metkovi
. Petersen parked the truck in the main street and stepped down to the roadway. Sarina said: ‘Forgotten something, haven't you?'

‘What?'

‘Your keys. You've left them in the ignition.'

‘Please don't be silly.' Petersen crossed the street and disappeared into a store.

Lorraine spoke for the first time since leaving Plo
e. ‘What did he mean by that?'

‘What he says. He knows so much that he probably knows I can't drive anyway. Certainly not this rackety old monster. Even if I could, what place would I have to drive to?' She touched the back of the cab. ‘Wood. I couldn't get five yards – that fearful Alex could shoot through that.' She looked and sounded doleful in the extreme.

Lorraine said: ‘Wouldn't it be nice to see him, just once, make a mistake, do something wrong?'

‘I'd love it. But I don't think we should want it. I have the feeling that what is good for Major Petersen is good for us. And vice versa.'

Twenty minutes elapsed before Petersen returned. For a man who might have been regarded as being on the run, he was in no hurry. He was carrying a large wicker basket, its contents covered with brown paper. This he took round to the back of the truck. Moments later he was back in the driving seat. He seemed in good humour.