‘Well, well, well, we are not quite so talkative now, are we, my friend?” He hummed a little to himself, looked up abruptly, the smile broader than ever.
“Where are the explosives, Captain Mallory?”
“Explosives?” Mallory lifted an interrogatory eyebrow. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“You don’t remember, eh?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“So.” Skoda hummed to himself again and walked over in front of Miller. “And what about you, my Mend?”
“Sure I remember,” Miller said easily. “The captain’s got it all wrong.”
“A sensible man!” Skoda purred–but Mallory could have sworn to an undertone of disappointment in the voice. “Proceed, my friend.”
“Captain Mallory has no eye for detail,” Miller drawled. “I was with him that day. He is malignin’ a noble bird. It was a vulture, not a buzzard.”
Just for a second Skoda’s smile slipped, then it was back again, as rigidly fixed and lifeless as if it had beeii painted on.
“Very, very witty men, don’t you think, Turzig? What the British would call music-hall comedians. Let them laugh while they may, until the hangman’s noose begins to tighten. . . .” He looked at Casey Brown. “Perhaps you–”
“Why don’t you go and take a running jump to yourself?” Brown growled.
“A running jump? The idiom escapes me, but I fear it is hardly complimentary.” Skoda selected a cigarette from a thin case, tapped it thoughtfully on a thumb nail. “Hmm. Not just what one might call too co-operative, Lieutenant Turzig.”
“You won’t get these men to talk, sir.” There was quiet finality in Turzig’s voice.
“Possibly not, possibly not.” Skoda was quite unruffled. “Nevertheless, I shall have the information I want, and within five minutes.” He walked unhurriedly across to his desk, pressed a button, screwed his cigarette into its jade holder, and leaned against the table, an arrogance, a careless contempt in every action, even to the leisurely crossing of the gleaming jackboots.
Suddenly a side door was flung open and two men stumbled into the room, prodded by a rifle barrel. Mallory caught his breath, felt his nails dig savagely into the palms of his hands. Louki and Panayisi Louki and Panayis, bound and bleeding, Louki from a cut above the eye, Panayis from a scalp wound. So they’d got them too, and in spite of his warnings. Both men were shirtsleeved; Lould, minus his magnificently frogged jacket, scarlet tsanta and the small arsenal of weapons that he carried stuck beneath it, looked strangely pathetic and woe-begone–strangely, for he was red-faced with anger, the moustache bristling more ferociously than ever. Mallory looked at him with eyes empty of all recognition, his face expressionless.
“Come now, Captain Mallory,” Skoda said reproachfully. “Have you no word of greeting for two old friends? No? Or perhapi you are just overwhelmed?” he suggested smoothly. “You had not expected to see them so soon again, eh, Captain Mallory.”
“What cheap trick is this?” Mallory asked contemptuously. “I’ve never seen these men before in my life.” His eyes caught those of Panayis, held there involuntarily: the black hate that stared out of those eyes, the feral malevolence–there was something appaffing about it.
“Of course not,” Skoda sighed wearily. “Oh, of course not. Human memory is so short, is it not, Captain Mallory.” The sigh was pure theatre–Skoda was enjoying himself immensely, the cat playing with the mouse. “However, we will try again.” He swung round, crossed over to the bench where Stevens lay, pulled off the blanket and, before anyone could guess his intentions, chopped the outside of his right hand against Stevens’s smashed leg, just below the knee. . . . Stevens’s entire body leapt in a convulsive spasm, but without even the whisper of a moan: he was still fully conscious, smiling at Skoda, blood trickling down his chin from where his teeth had gashed his lower lip.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Hauptmann Skoda,” Mallory said. His voice was barely a whisper, but unnaturally loud in the frozen silence of the room. “You are going to die for that, Hauptmann Skoda.”
“So? I am going to die, am I?” Again he chopped his hand against the fractured leg, again without reaction. “Then Imay as well die twice over–eh, Captain Mallory? This young man is very, very tough–but the British have soft hearts, have they not, my dear Captain?” Gently his hand slid down Stevens’s leg, closed round the stockinged ankle. “You have exactly five seconds to tell me the truth, Captain Mallory, and then I fear I will be compelled to rearrange these splints–_Gott in Himmel!_ What’s the matter with that great oaf?”
Andrea had taken a couple of steps forward, was standing only a yard away, swaying on his feet.
“Outside! Let me outside!” His breath came in short, fast gasps. He bowed his head, one hand to his throat, one over his stomach. “I cannot stand it! Air! Air! I must have air!”
“Ah, no, my dear Papagos, you shall remain here and enjoy–Corporal! Quickly!” He had seen Andrea’s eyes roll upwards until only the whites showed. “The fool is going to faint! Take him away before he falls on top of us!”
Mallory had one fleeting glimpse of the two guards hurrying forwards, of the incredulous contempt on Louki’s face, then he ificked a glance at Miller and Brown, caught the lazy droop of the American’s eyelid in return, the millimetric inclination of Brown’s head. Even as the two guards came up behind Andrea and lifted the flaccid arms across their shoulders, Mallory glanced half-left, saw the nearest sentry less than four feet away now, absorbed in the spectacle of the toppling giant. Easy, dead easy–the gun dangling by his side: he could bit him between wind and water before he knew what was happening. . . .
Fascinated, Mallory watched Andrea’s forearms slipping nervelessly down the shoulders of the supporting guards till his wrists rested loosely beside their necks, palms facing inwards. And then there was the sudden leap of the great shoulder muscles and Mallory had hurled himself convulsively sidewards and back, his shoulder socketing with vicious force into the guard’s stomach, inches below the breast-bone: an explosive _ouf!_ of agony, the crash against the wooden walls of the room and Mallory knew the guard would be out of action for some time to come.
Even as he dived, Mallory had heard the sickening thud of heads being swept together. Now, as he twisted round on his side, he had a fleeting glimpse of another guard thrashing feebly on the floor under the combined weights of Miller and Brown, and then of Andrea tearing an automatic rifle from the guard who had been standing at his right shoulder: the Schmeisser was cradled in his great hands, lined up on Skoda’s chest even before the unconscious man had hit the floor.
For one second, maybe two, all movement in the room ceased, every sound sheared off by a knife edge: the silence was abrupt, absolute-and infinitely more clamorous than the clamour that had gone before. No one moved, no one spoke, no one even breathed: the shock, the utter unexpectedness of what had happened held them all in thrall.
And then the silence erupted in a staccato crashing of sound, deafening in that confined space. Once, twice, three times, wordlessly, and with great care, Andrea shot Hauptmann Skoda through the heart. The blast of the shells lifted the little man off his feet, smashed him against the wall of the hut, pinned him there for one incredible second, arms outfiung as though nailed against the rough planks in spreadeagle crucifixion; and then he eollapsed, fell limply to the ground, a grotesque and broken doll that struck its heedless head against the edge of the bench before coming to rest on its back on the floor. The eyes were still wide open, as cold, as dark, as empty in death as they had been in life.
His Schmeisser waving in a gentle arc that covered Turzig and the sergeant, Andrea picked up Skoda’s sheath knife, sliced through the ropes that bound Mallory’s wrists.
“Can you hold this gun, my Captain?”
Mallory flexed his stiffened hands once or twice, nodded, took the gun in silence. In three steps Andrea was behind the blind side of the door leading to the anteroom, pressed to the wall, waiting, gesturing to Mallory to move as far back as possible out of the line of sight.
Suddenly the door was flung open. Andrea could just see the tip of the rifle barrel projecting beyond it.
“Oberleutnant Turzig! _Was ist los? Wer schoss_ . . .” The voice broke off in a coughing grunt of agony as Andrea smashed the sole of his foot against the door. He was round the outside of the door in a moment, caught the man as he fell, pulled him clear of the doorway and peered into the adjacent hut. A brief inspection, then he closed the door, bolted it from the inside.