The Daisy Ducks (35 page)

I crawled back into the bush, wiped off my brow, and
replaced my wide hat. All my muscles ached. Not just my legs, but my
back, my arms, even my neck. I took a pinch of snuff and it gave me a
lift. I was getting hooked on the stuff. Maybe I should try leaf or
plug next. Roantis and Kaunitz were poring over the map, running
fingers down slopes and up ridges, murmuring.

"Who's tired?" asked Kaunitz.

"I am," I said. "And I ache all over
too."

"Then unroll your pack and sleep. We're not
going to move until after dark."

I did, and Desmond joined me. Summers opened ration
cans, and Kaunitz pumped up the little primus stove and boiled water
for coffee. It was just like the boy scouts, and I was getting a
warm, homey feeling until Roantis dug into his pack and pulled out
that paper wand dripping talcum powder. He laid the cylinder on the
ground, took a tiny plastic bag, and shook more powder on it, then
rubbed it carefully over the paper.

"She's drying out real nice," he said to
Kaunitz. "Now I just got to decide where to use her."

"What is that? Plastique?" I asked.

"Same family. A li'l different and better. It
was developed in Yugoslavia a coupla years ago."

"What would happen if that thing went off?"
I asked. Funny, but I couldn't help being a little curious.

"Ha! Blow us all to jelly. Nothing left."

"Well, uh, isn't it a little dangerous? What if
a spark hits it?"

"Nothing. You can light this with a match and
it'll burn, just like Sterno."

"Then how does it work?"

"Detonator. Either electric or heat-sensitive.
Like this." He fished into the pack again and drew out a red cap
that fit over the end. Then he put it back. "May not even use
this thing. Or these . . ."

He brought out those little pocket-sized brass
grenades, made in Holland, and gave Kaunitz and Summers two apiece.
Desmond felt left out, so Kaunitz gave him one of his. Summers
offered me one, but I declined. I was starting to feel a little
queasy. I rubbed my stomach and tried to sleep. Finally, I fell into
a doze.

I woke up at twilight. Desmond was asleep next to me,
giving off a soft snore. The sun was behind the far mountain now, and
Summers and Roantis were glassing the rock wall across the valley. I
yawned and stretched. The aches were worse; I had stiffened up in my
sleep. Still, I felt rested. I scooted up to the other two and had a
look through my glasses. I saw two bright yellow specks near the
white rock. Campfires. Royce's men were apparently not bothering to
stay out of sight.

"Where's Freddie?" I asked.

"Down at the river looking for a place to cross.
How are you?"

"I've been better. Why are they showing lights?"

"Because they don't think we're here. They
probably think I'm still in Boston. Thanks to Freddie's snagging that
kid, we're way ahead of them."

"I'm glad you're so optimistic, Liatis. How do
you know they're not just being bait? Acting unprepared so we'll walk
right into a trap?"

"Nah."

He answered a lot of questions with that
monosyllable. It was simple, definitive, and probably dumb. I let out
a slow sigh and felt my stomach churn. My mouth and throat had a sour
taste. I had enough acid in there for a truck battery. I wished I
were home pulling teeth. Boy, did I wish it. Roantis stifled a yawn.
Typical. The sonofabitch was bored. Kaunitz came creeping back up the
hillside, breathing heavily. His pants and the bottom half of his
shirt were soaked. He stripped off his wet clothes and put on dry
bush pants, hanging the wet pair in a tree to dry. Then he and
Roantis went back to the maps. If Kaunitz felt the cold, he sure
didn't show it. I was chilly. I wasn't made for this stuff. If I
learned nothing else on this fool's errand, I would learn that. And
then I thought of it: Freddie's leg injury. I should have looked at
his leg when he changed clothes, but it had slipped my mind.

"I'd be willing to bet they've got the trestle
bridge wired," Kaunitz said. "If we use it, they could blow
it when half of us have crossed it, cutting us in two and maybe
killing a couple of us. Crossing the creek is the only way to go, but
it's a long hike."

"Okay, you Ducks, get some sleep," said
Roantis. "We'll get moving just after two. That'll give us a
couple hours of moonlight for the hike and climb before it dips
behind the mountain wall."

My aching body didn't want to hear that. For that
matter, neither did my tormented mind. I glassed the cliffside across
the valley again. The sides of that hill looked awfully steep, and
the ridge on top was dotted with towering hunks of rock. It looked
like a huge, dark castle. And just as forbidding.
 

24

THE MOON was silver white. Smoke-colored puffs of
cloud drifted in front of it. The mountainside across the valley was
all dark. The river washed far below us in little beads of white
reflection. You could hear it now, a faint rushing sound that on an
ordinary night could sing you to sleep. You couldn't hear it in the
daytime. Why was that? The air too damp and hot? Too many other
noises? Why?

I crept out of the bedroll and stretched. I hurt. But
soon I knew the fear would take over and the adrenaline would hide
the pain. Hell, I'd rather have the pain. I crept away from the
others, found a spot where nobody could hear or see me, and threw up.
I felt much better after that. It had been building all afternoon and
night. And now, like a nervous runner entering the blocks on the
cinder track, I was ready to run the race.

The others were stirring when I got back. The air was
dark i blue, and there was an electric current passing all around us.
You could feel it, see it in everyone's face. The Ducks' eyes were
bright. Oh, they were glad; they liked this stuff. They were happy as
pigs in poop.

"I want to take plenty of rope," said
Roantis in a low voice. "Also sonic galler tape. And Mike, be
sure to take your wire cutters."

Then we crept down off our mountain, heading for the
valley six hundred feet below. Thanks to Kaunitz having scouted the
way, we made it in under an hour. But it was tough going, and one
slip in the dark meant falling down a long, steep grade that was
studded with rocks. We went light. Roantis carried a small assault
pack, and Summers had a big coil of rope slung over his shoulder.
Otherwise, all we carried were weapons and flashlights.

We reached the river, and after twenty more minutes
of hiking along the gravelly bank, we were at the fording place. The
water, largely snowmelt, was ice cold. We could not wade through it
with our pants on; we would be chilled to the bone afterward and
stiffen up. So we crossed it by stripping from the waist down, tying
our pants and boots over our shoulders and holding the rifles high
over our heads, not making a sound. Kaunitz was leading the way, and
I strained to see any mark on his bum leg, any sign of a healed
gunshot wound. But it was too dark out, and then we were waist deep
in the icy water. I was freezing, but feeling better and better.
Nothing like actually doing something to take the edge off fear. It's
the waiting that's a killer. We came up the other side on another
gravelly bank. Kaunitz was out of the water first, and I noticed some
discoloration on his right calf. A gunshot wound? Couldn't tell, but
it didn't look like it. We dressed again and walked briskly along the
far bank to get warm. Then Kaunitz showed us a niche below the
overhanging rock where we could remain invisible. We crawled
underneath and hunkered down over the flashlight while Roantis spread
out the rough map he'd drawn of the immediate area. He had put it
together from the kid's interrogation, Freddie's reconnaissance, and
watching the mountain for hours on end. But at best it was an
educated guess. We all knew there could be big surprises ahead.

"First, Doc and Tommy," Roantis said. "You
guys will be in observatory positions. You shoot only to signal an
alarm. Four quick shots in the air, like we said. Tommy, you'll be
here once we get up to the ridge." He tapped the map and Desmond
nodded. "Doc, if it's okay with you, we're putting you here,
right below Tommy. It's more in the middle of things, so stay low and
out of sight. Mike, you'll come with Freddie and me along this ridge
trail we've been watching. There shouldn't be anyone around this time
of night. As soon as we find her, I'll get her out. When she's safe,
I'm going back with anyone who wants to come with me. I'm going to
get what's mine. Then we'll split. Finally, if there's big trouble,
everybody get out fast. Look out for number one and meet here."

Then, before we moved out, Roantis surprised us by
slipping off his bush pants and shirt. From his pack, he took out a
dark bundle. He put on a close-fitting suit of black with faint
purple swirls and a pair of strange-looking slipper socks that had a
gap in the sole between the big toe and the foot. He strapped a black
dagger to his right cal£ and exchanged his floppy hat for a dark
wool watch cap that could be pulled down into a hood. He left his
bush clothes in a heap under the rock. The only things he carried
were the shotgun and the assault bag with spare ammo and the
fireworks. Both he could ditch instantly, leaving him
unencumbered, agile, and invisible.

We crawled out from under and walked along the
riverwash for a quarter of a mile. The rushing water sang a song to
me, but it didn't help. Up ahead loomed the trestle bridge. It looked
very high up, and that was how far we had to climb in the dark. I
tried not to look at it.

"I'm looking for a big spruce that's leaning out
from the cliff." whispered Roantis. "I spotted a nice
crevice underneath it from the hill. That's where we'll go up."

When we found the spruce, I could see a dark, tall
depression in the cliff face right beneath it. Here Roantis did
another strange thing: he dropped all his gear, took the nylon
climber's rope, slung it over his neck and shoulder like a bulky Sam
Browne belt, and backed up to the cliff face. He stood there, back
against the rock, and did some strange mumbo jumbo with his hands and
fingers. It looked in the darkness as if he had twisted his fingers
into painful configurations and was contemplating them. Next, he
extended his arms out in a grotesque ballet stance. It looked as if
he were performing tai chi. Then he snapped his toes together, heels
splayed outward, knock-kneed.

"What the —" I said.

"Shhhh, " said Kaunitz. "You watch
him. This is Ninjitsu's Seventh Step, and it's extremely difficult.
It's called
chiang pi kung
,
or wall climbing. It takes years to master. Roantis is the best I've
ever seen."

Well, I thought it was horseshit. But, lo and behold,
before our very eyes Roantis began to ascend that vertical cliff
face. Without the rope fastened, without pitons, crampons, or any of
that other stuff. It was levitation. It was a miracle like the loaves
and fishes. It gave me the creeps.

He climbed backward, his back pressed tight to the
wall of rock, his weight directly over his heels. He used only his
fingertips and the backs of his heels for purchase. It must have
required awesome finger and hand strength. But through it all there
was no panting or puffing, no evidence of exertion. He made
absolutely no noise. Liatis Roantis was languidly statue-dancing his
way up, defying gravity. He had conquered that cliff wall before he'd
even started, conquered it in his mind. It did not exist. It was
level greensward in an English country garden. And viewed from any
distance, what was most spectacular—due to his strange clothing,
slow movements, and grotesque positions—was his invisibility.

This first part of the cliff face was about
twenty-five feet high and absolutely vertical. Roantis, with all his
smoothness and grace, made it to the top in less than five minutes.
Once up there, he tied the rope to the spruce and lowered it so we
could follow.

Getting up there was a big chore, and I was tuckered
at the top. Summers and Desmond had the most trouble because, despite
their great strength, they were just plain big and heavy. So was
Kaunitz, but he had awesome upper-body strength from wrestling steers
day after day. After we collected ourselves up there at the first
level, it was obvious to all that Royce knew what he was doing; the
place was a natural castle, with the spur and its trestle the
drawbridge over the moat. And we'd only gone a fraction of the way;
the rest of the mountain still loomed over us. All the days of my
life, I will never forget that climb. It was terrifying and exalting.
The darkness made it very tough, but I was thankful for it too,
because I couldn't see how high we were. Roantis climbed ahead,
feeling for the easiest route and making fast the rope when
necessary. We stopped in tiny level spots when we could, and caught
our breath. The river sang its rushing song below us. The mountain
breeze washed over us. I felt a strange and tremendous gladness and
camaraderie going up that cliff in the nighttime wilderness. Although
I knew I was not cut out for this kind of adventure, I then knew, and
would forever know, why some men like to do it.

We made it up the mountain to just below the bare
patch of rock by four forty-seven. The climb had taken almost two
hours. I was exhausted and knew the others had to feel it too. After
ten minutes' rest, we began to work our way slowly upward to the rock
lip above our heads. Summers went over it first. Then I saw the light
of his watch wink once, the signal for danger. We all froze and
waited. After several minutes, I heard what sounded like an earthy
thump. Summers came to the lip and asked for rope. Soon afterward we
saw his watch wink twice at us from over the lip, and we followed him
up. We found ourselves on a flat, narrow ridge, and we walked along
it until we saw Summers kneeling over a man stretched out on the
ground, his arms tied.