“Shoot to kill!” Louki laughed dryly. “Unnecessary advice, Major, when the dark one is with us. He never shoots any other way.”
“Right, away you go. Damned sorry you’ve got yourselves mixed up in all this–but now that you are, a thousand thanks for all you’ve done. See you at halfpast six.”
“Half-past six,” Louki echoed. “The olive grove on the bank of the stream, south of the village. We will be waiting there.”
Two minutes later they were lost to sight and sound and all was still inside the cave again, except for the faint crackling of the embers of the dying fire. Brown had moved out on guard, and Stevens had already fallen into a restless, pain-filled sleep. Miller bent over him for a moment or two, then moved softly across the cave to Mallory. His right hand held a crumpled heap of blood-stained bandages. He held them out towards Mallory.
“Take a sniff at that, boss,” he asked quietly. “Easy does it.”
Mallory bent forward, drew away sharply, his nose wrinkled in immediate disgust.
“Good lord, Dusty! That’s vile!” He paused, paused in sure, sick certainty. He knew the answer before he spoke. “What on earth is it?”
“Gangrene.” Miller sat down heavily by his side, threw the bandages into the fire. All at once he sounded tired, defeated. “Gas gangrene. Spreadin’ like a forest fire–and he would have died anyway. I’m just wastin’ my time.”
CHAPTER 10
Tuesday Night
0400–0600
The Germans took them just after four o’clock in the morning, while they were still asleep. Bone-tired and deep-drugged with this sleep as they were, they had no chance, not the slightest hope of offering any resistance. The conception, timing and execution of the coup were immaculate. Surprise was complete.
Andrea was the first awake. Some alien whisper of sound had reached deep down to that part of him that never slept, and he twisted round and elbowed himself off the ground with the same noiseless speed as his hand reached out for his ready-cocked and loaded Mauser. But the white beam of the powerful torch lancing through the blackness of the cave bad blinded him, frozen his stretching hand even before the clipped bite of command from the man who held the torch.
“Still! All of you!” Faultless English, with barely a trace of accent, and the voice glacial in its menace. “You move, and you die!” Another torch switched on, a third, and the cave was flooded with light. Wide awake, now, and motionless, Mallory squinted painfully into the dazzling beams: in the back-wash of reflected light, he could just discern the vague, formless shapes crouched in the mouth of the cave, bent over the dulled barrels of automatic rifles.
“Hands clasped above the heads and backs to the wall!” A certainty, an assured competence in the voice that made for instant obedience. “Take a good look at them, Sergeant.” Almost conversational now, the tone, but neither torch nor gun barrel had wavered a fraction. “No shadow of expression in their faces, not even a flicker of the eyes. Dangerous men, Sergeant. The English choose their killers well”
Mallory felt the grey bitterness of defeat wash through him in an almost tangible wave, he could taste the sourness of it in the back of his mouth. For a brief, heart-sickening second he allowed himself to think of what must now inevitably happen and as soon as the thought had come he thrust it savagely away. Everything, every action, every thought, every breath must be on the present. Hope was gone, but not irrecoverably gone: not so long as Andrea lived. He wondered if Casey Brown had seen or heard them coming, and what had happened to him: he made to ask, checked himself just in time. Maybe he was still at large.
“How did you manage to find us?” Mallory asked quietly.
“Only fools burn juniper wood,” the officer said contemptuously. “We have been on Kostos all day and most of the night. A dead man could have smelt it.”
“On Kostos?” Miner shook his head. “How could–?’
“Enough!” The officer turned to someone behind him. “Tear down that screen,” he ordered in German, “and keep us covered on either side.” He looked back into the cave, gestured almost imperceptibly with his torch. “All right, you three. Outside–and you had better be careful. Please believe me that my men are praying for an excuse to shoot you down, you murdering swine!” The venomous hatred in his voice carried utter conviction.
Slowly, hands still clasped above their heads, the three men stumbled to their feet. Mallory had taken only one step when the whip-lash of the German’s voice brought him up short.
“Stop!” He stabbed the beam of his torch down at the unconscious Stevens, gestured abruptly at Andrea. “One side, you! Who is this?”
“You need not fear from him,” Mallory said quietly. “He is one of us but he is terribly injured. He is dying.”
“We will see,” the officer said tightly. “Move to the back of the cave!” He waited until the three men had stepped over Stevens, changed his automatic rifle for a pistol, dropped to his knees and advanced slowly, torch in one hand, gun in the other, well below the line of fire of the two soldiers who advanced unbidden at his heels. There was an inevitability, a cold professionalism about it all that made Mallory’s heart sink.
Abruptly the officer reached out his gun-hand, tore the covers off the boy. A shuddering tremor shook the whole body, his head rolied from side to side as he moaned in unconscious agony. The officer bent quickly over him, the hard, clean lines of the face, the fair hair beneath the hood high-lit in the beam of his own torch. A quick look at Stevens’s pain-twisted, emaciated features, a glance at the shattered leg, a brief, distasteful wrinkling of the nose as he caught the foul stench of the gangrene, and he had hunched back on his heels, gently replacing the covers over the sick boy.
“You speak the truth,” he said softly. “We are not barbarians. I have no quarrel with a dying man. Leave him there.” He rose to his feet, walked slowly backwards. “The rest of you outside.”
The snow had stopped altogether, Mallory saw, and stars were beginning to twinkle in the clearing sky. The wind, too, had fallen away and was perceptibly warmer. Most of the snow would be gone by midday, Mallory guessed.
Carelessly, incuriously, he looked around him. There was no sign of Casey Brown. Inevitably Mallory’s hopes began to rise. Petty Officer Brown’s recommendation for this operation had come from the very top. Two rows of ribbons to which he was entitled but never wore bespoke his gallantry, he had a formidable reputation as a guerrilla fighter–and he had had an automatic rifle in his hand. If he were somewhere out there. . . . Almost as ‘if he had divined his hopes, the German smashed them at a word.
“You wonder where your sentry is, perhaps?” he asked mockingly. “Never fear, Englishman, he is not far from here, asleep at his post. Very sound asleep, I’m afraid.”
“You’ve killed him?” Mallory’s hands clenched until his palms ached.
The other shrugged his shoulder in vast indifference.
“I really couldn’t say. It was all too easy. One of my men lay in the gully and moaned. A masterly performance–really pitiable–he almost had me convinced. Like a fool your man came to investigate. I had another man waiting above, the barrel of his rifle in his hand. A very effective club, I assure you. . . .”
Slowly Mallory unclenched his fists and stared bleakly down the gully. Of course Casey would fall for that, he was bound to after what had happened earlier in the night. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself again, cry “wolf” twice in succession: inevitably, he had gone to check first. Suddenly the thought occurred to Mallory that maybe Casey Brown _had_ heard something earlier on, but the thought vanished as soon as it had come. Panayis did not look like the man to make a mistake: and Andrea never made a mistake; Mallory turned back to the officer again.
“Well, where do we go from here?”
“Margaritha, and very shortly. But one thing first.” The German, his own height to an inch, stood squarely in front of him, levelled revolver at waist height, switched-off torch dangling loosely from his right hand. “Just a little thing, Englishman. Where are the explosives?” He almost spat the words out.
“Explosives?” Mallory furrowed his brow in perplexity. “What explosives?” be asked blankly, then staggered and fell to the ground as the heavy torch swept round in a vicious half-circle, caught him flush on the side of the face. Dizzily he shook his head and climbed slowly to his feet again.
“The explosives.” The torch was balanced in the hand again, the voice silky and gentle. “I asked you where they were.”