“But what purpose will it serve?” she said desperately.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It may help the people of Kyros, it may not. It’ll be worth it if it only helps you.”
She was crying again, her head against his chest. He tilted her chin, kissed her on the mouth once and then pushed her gently away. With a quick jerk he snapped the gold chain around his neck and dropped it and the coin into her hand. “I won’t be needing this again.”
He pulled Boyd into a sitting position, stooped and tilted him over one shoulder. The body was surprisingly light and when he moved outside, the cold rain stung his face, giving him a new energy.
The dogs were very close now and as he crossed the yard and moved along the track, they came over the crest of the hill above his head.
He broke into a shambling run and after a while turned off the track and moved across the barren hillside. He paused on top of a small rise, laid Boyd carefully down and turned, unslinging his machine gun.
They were coming down through the olive grove now and he loosed off a long burst. The dogs howled excitedly and he heard shouts and several shots were fired in reply.
He turned and started to run, but for some reason his legs refused to function properly and he tripped and fell heavily over a stone.
For a little while he lay there half-stunned and then he struggled to his feet. They had skirted the farm and were running along the track, men and dogs in full cry.
He raised the sub-machine gun and pressed the trigger, flame stabbing the night in a long, reverberating roll that emptied the gun.
He tossed the useless weapon to one side and turned to run as a Schmeisser stuttered in reply. It was as if he had been kicked sharply in the legs several times and he fell forward on to his face.
Everything was going away from him, but “he was still conscious when a hand gripped him by the shoulder and turned him over and a torch was shone into his face. He could hear the excited voices of the soldiers and the snarling of the dogs as they were held back and the whole swelled into a meaningless roar and he plunged into darkness.
Slowly the blackness turned to grey and he was aware of somebody talking quietly near at hand. He opened his eyes and saw a light directly over his head like a baleful eye.
He was lying on a narrow operating table and when he moved slightly, the talking stopped and quick footsteps sounded across a tiled floor. The man who leaned over him wore a neat white smock and was obviously a doctor.
“Just relax,” he said. “You’re going to be all right.”
A male nurse moved beside him carrying a tray and the doctor filled a hypodermic and gave Lornax another injection. As he finished, a door swung open and Steiner came in and leaned over the operating table.
There was a faint smile on his face. “So, my dear Lomax. You are still with us?”
Lomax frowned, trying to push himself upright. “How did you know my name?”
The male nurse pressed a foot-pump, automatically raising one end of the table, bringing them face to face, and Steiner laughed. “I’ve got a file on you six inches thick in my office. Intelligence keep adding to it each month. I never thought we’d see you on Kyros, though. Excellent job you did on the monastery, by the way. Worth another bar to your MC I should imagine.”
He took a cigarette from a slim gold case, put it in Lomax’s mouth and lit it. “How do you feel?”
Lomax looked down and saw that his trousers had been cut open. Both legs were heavily bandaged. “As if I shouldn’t be here.”
“But you are,” Steiner said. “Unfortunate, really. I’m supposed to have you shot. I presume you’re aware of that?”
“I’ve had a good run,” Lomax said.
“Of course a little co-operation might help me to change my mind,” Steiner said. “The names of the people who helped you, for instance.”