“If I can help …?” Pennington suggested.
It was a crazy idea, yet what choice did he have? And crazy ideas had a way of succeeding, because they were unexpected.
He might be a fool, but he decided to trust the Englishman; yet he could not take him along. There was no way it could be done.
They were in the blind spot for the last time on that walk. “I could use help. I need a few minutes of darkness. Can you get out of your cell?”
Back on the cot again he turned it over in his mind. The situation that existed might never occur again. Somebody had not been thinking. Somebody had been careless. The connection for the new building might have no tie in with the compound lights, yet it was there, on the end of the nearest building.
After he was free he would need weapons, food, and clothing.
He slept, he ate the food, he waited. Distance first, then a place to hide, then more distance. Manchuria was a part of China and it was fairly close. He would start toward it.
When the exercise period came, he was ready. “No one knows of this place,” Pennington told him. “They do not know, but I understand some Russian. I have heard them speaking. If you make it, tell them where I am. Try to get me out.” He paused. “It will take strength and endurance I do not have.”
Zamatev, or whoever supervised the construction, depended too much on the camp’s isolation, the barbed wire, and the guards.
There were three other prisoners, but they kept to themselves. One was a West German, Pennington said. Or so the man told him. Pennington, suspicious, had avoided him after the man had asked too many questions. “I do not believe he is German,” Pennington said.
The others were a Swedish naval officer and a French diplomat, a very minor one apparently, who happened to have some information that was anything but minor.
“There was another,” Pennington said, and pointed. “They buried him over there.”
Joe Mack was not surprised. Whatever else Zamatev might be, he was efficient, and he was no time waster. He would get what he wanted or he would be rid of anyone who did not cooperate. The man was cool and tough, and he knew his business.
Pennington talked quite freely while they were being observed and listened to. His home had been in Weymouth before he was transferred to Scotland. He had a brother, two sisters, and a wife.
“No children?”
“One was on the way. Should be three months old by now.” He glanced around at Joe Mack. “I’ve been here nearly six months.”
“So long?”
“They are patient with me. You see, Yakutia is booming now. They need scientists in every field. I had been working in insecticides, and all of eastern Siberia is beset with vicious flies and mosquitoes. They’ve been trying, but there is much to be done.” He paused again. “They’ve even offered to bring over my wife and child.”
They walked in silence, and then Joe Mack said, “It may take time.”
Pennington nodded. “You’re my one chance.”
“Nobody likes those flies,” Joe Mack said. “I’ve had experience with their like while hunting.”
“It will be bitter cold. Think of that.”
“I have.”
“The nights here are short. In summer there is no night if you go above the Arctic Circle.”
When they were around the corner Joe Mack said, “Tonight, then?”
“Tonight.”
The time was settled, and they walked on into the clear and back to their cells. Tonight, and God help them both!
There were no preparations to make. There was simply nothing to be done.
The light flashed in his face as the guard checked his presence from the small window.
Less than two hours of darkness would remain. He tightened his shoelaces, went over in his mind the position of the pipe.
He could hear the footsteps of the guard, heard him pause at a cell door and then another. His would be next. He huddled under his blanket.
Light flashed into his cell. The guard passed. Joe Mack swung his feet to the floor.
Three
The prison did not rely upon locks. Anyone seen in the compound would be shot. It was as simple as that. Only during the exercise periods or when being moved by the guards themselves was movement permitted.
In the Idaho mountains where he had grown up, and where he had returned many times, all repairs were made by the family. There was no telephone to call a repairman. You simply did it yourself. The locks were simple, and Joe Mack had known what to do the minute he saw them.
One minute after his feet touched the floor his cell door was open. He took six steps to the outer door on cat feet, then waited, listening.
Pennington was listening too and now he spoke softly. “Just let my wife know I did not run out on her. Tell her I miss her.”
“You can be sure.”
You haven’t a chance, he told himself. This thing is crazy! If there had only been time to plan! He was outside, and something moved behind him. It was Pennington.
Joe Mack flattened against the wall, listening, waiting, judging the time to the slender pipe he wanted. He already knew how many steps he must take and how many to the wire.
The lights went out. There were shouts from the guard towers, running feet, and he was moving. There was dampness on his face, and for the first time he realized there was fog.
Lightly he ran to the pile of building material, grasped the pipe, lifted it, and ran. Any time now the emergency lights would come on.
A guard tower loomed through the mist. There was a questioning shout. The end of the pipe touched the ground and his body lifted. He had often vaulted over sixteen feet, but that had been with a resilient pole, and when he was dressed lightly.
His body lifted, soared. High, higher … he released the pole as his body shot over and down.
For one brief, awful moment he was above the wire and fear flashed through him. If he fell into it …!
He landed on the balls of his feet, knees slightly bent. He fell forward, his fingers touched the ground, and then he was running. As his pole hit the ground there was a burst of fire, and then the lights flashed on. The edge of the forest was just feet away.
Wet branches slapped his face, tore at his clothing. He pivoted away, saw a dip in the ground, and ran down a small declivity as bullets tore the leaves above his head. In his track days he had done the mile in four minutes and fifteen seconds. Not good enough to put him up where the winners were, but how fast could he do a mile now over strange ground and through brush and trees?
When he had covered what he believed was a half-mile he slowed to a fast walk. Distance was essential, but he must conserve his energy, also. He walked a hundred fast steps, then ran again.
A road, scarcely more than a dim trail. He looked, then crossed swiftly, and ran through a small watercourse. His lungs sucked at the fresh, tangy air. He could smell the pines.
It would take them five minutes to discover that he had escaped. They would find the pipe, but would they guess at once that he had pole-vaulted over the wire? Say another five minutes to get a search organized and moving. In the night and fog they would be handicapped in following his trail and would trust to a hurried search and patrols on all existing roads.
Through a momentary rift in the fog he glimpsed the stars. He was not far off the route he intended to follow.
Off to his right he heard the roar of a stream. He felt his way to the bottom of a small gorge where he stepped into the water and walked upstream. Several times he paused to listen, but the rush of the water drowned all other sounds.
Coming up to a stone shelf, he left the water without leaving a trace. He stepped from that rocky ledge to another, leaving no tracks. He swung from one low-hanging limb to another, then came upon a path where he ran, following it for some fifty yards. He crossed another road, dipped into the forest, and ran through the trees. Behind him he heard the roar of a motor.
A car was passing along the road he had just crossed. He stood, not moving, until it had raced away.
Before and around him was the taiga, the Siberian forest. One of the guards had mentioned Malovsky, obviously a village or town, but one of which he knew nothing. He knew the prison was in an area of the Trans-Baikal, in Siberia, and he had read enough to know that the region was changing. An almost unbroken wilderness not too many years ago, the Russians had discovered that the area was a treasure house of mineral wealth. Consequently, new roads were being built and lumbering and mining were increasing; at any time, he might come upon such operations. He must move with caution.