“I know. I heard. I’m sorry, but I’m under orders too. As for the rest, forget it–and I mean forget. Impress on your crew that they mustn’t talk. They’ve never seen us.”
The pilot nodded glumly. “We’ve all been threatened with court-martial already. You’d think there was a ruddy war on.”
“There is. . . . We’ll be leaving a couple of cases behind. We’re going ashore in different clothes. Somebody will be waiting for our old stuff when you get back.”
“Roger. And the best of luck, Captain. Official secrets, or no official secrets, I’ve got a hunch you’re going to need it.”
“If we are, you can give us a good send-off.” Mallory grinned; “Just set us down in one piece, will you?”
“Reassure yourself, brother,” said the pilot firmly. “Just set your mind at ease. Don’t forget–I’m in this ruddy plane too.”
The clamour of the Sunderland’s great engines was still echoing in their ears when the stubby little motorboat chugged softly out of the darkness and nosed alongside the gleaming hull of the flying-boat. There was no time lost, there were no words spoken; within a minute the five men and all their gear had been embarked; within another the little boat was rubbing to a stop against the rough stone Navy jetty of Castelrosso. Two ropes went spinning up into the darkness, were caught and quickly secured by practised hands. Amidships, the rust-scaled iron ladder, recessed deep into the stone, stretched up into the star-dusted darkness above: as Mallory reached the top, a figure stepped forward out of the gloom.
“Captain Mallory?”
“Yes.”
“Captain Briggs, Army. Have your men wait here, will you? The Colonel would like to see you.” The nasal voice, peremptory in its clipped affectation, was far from cordial. Mallory stirred in slow anger, but said nothing. Briggs sounded like a man who might like his bed or his gin, and maybe their late visitation was keeping him from either or both. War was hell.
They were back in ten minutes, a third figure followIng behind them. Mallory peered at the three men standing on the edge of the jetty, identified them, then peered around again.
“Where’s Miller got to?” he asked.
“Here, boss, here.” Miller groaned, eased his back off a big, wooden bollard, climbed wearily to his feet. “Just restin’, boss. Recuperatin’, as you might say, from the nerve-rackin’ rigours of the trip.”
“When you’re all _quite_ ready,” Briggs said acidly, “Matthews here will take you to your quarters. You are to remain on call for the Captain, Matthews. Colonel’s orders.” Briggs’s tone left no doubt that he thought the Colonel’s orders a piece of arrant nonsense. “And don’t forget, Captain–two hours, the Colonel said.”
“I know, I know,” Mallory said wearily. “I was there when he said it. It was to me he was talking. Remember? All right, boys, if you’re ready.”
“Our gear, sir?” Stevens ventured.
“Just leave it there. Right, Matthews, lead the way, will you?”
Matthews led the way along the jetty and up interminable flights of steep, worn steps, the others following in Indian file, rubber soles noiseless on the stone. He turned sharply right at the top, went down a narrow, winding alley, into a passage, climbed a flight of creaking, wooden stairs, opened the first door in the corridor above.
“Here you are, sir. I’ll just wait in the corridor outside.”
“Better wait downstairs,” Mallory advised. “No offence, Matthews, but the less you know of this the better.”
He followed the others into the room, closing the door behind him. It was a small, bleak room, heavily curtained. A table and half a dozen chairs took up most of the space. Over in the far corner the springs of the single bed creaked as Corporal Miller stretched himself out luxuriously, hands clasped behind his head.
“Gee!” he murmured admiringly. “A hotel room. Just like home. Kinda bare, though.” A thought occurred to him. “Where are all you other guys gonna sleep?”
“We aren’t,” Mallory said briefly. “Neither are you. We’re pulling out in less than two hours.” Miller groaned. “Come on, soldier,” Mallory went on relentlessly. “On your feet.”
Miller groaned again, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and looked curiously at Andrea. The big Greek was quartering the room methodically, pulling out lockers, turning pictures, peering behind curtains and under the bed.
“What’s he doin’?” Miller asked. “Lookin’ for dust?”
“Testing for listening devices,” Mallory said curtly. “One of the reasons why Andrea and I have lasted so long.” He dug into the inside pocket of his tunic, a dark naval battledress with neither badge nor insignia, pulled out a chart and the map Vlachos had given him, unfolded and spread them out. “Round the table, all of you. I know you’ve been bursting with curiosity for the past couple of weeks, asking yourselves a hundred questions. Well, here are all the answers. I hope you like them. . . . Let me introduce you to the island of Navarone.”
Mallory’s watch showed exactly eleven o’clock when he finally sat back, folded away the map and chart. He looked quizzically at the four thoughtful faces round the table.
“Well, gentlemen, there you have it. A lovely set-up, isn’t it?” He smiled wryly. “If this was a film, my next line should be, ‘Any questions, men?’ But we’ll dispense with that because I just wouldn’t have any of the answers. You all know as much as I do.”
“A quarter of a mile of sheer cliff, four hundred feet high, and he calls it the only break in the defences.” Miller, his head bent moodily over his tobacco tin, rolled a long, thin cigarette with one expert hand. “This is just crazy, boss. Me, I can’t even climb a bloody ladder without falling off.” He puffed strong, acrid clouds of smoke into the air. “Suicidal. That’s the word I was lookin’ for. Suicidal. One buck gets a thousand we never get within five miles of them gawddamned guns!”
“One in a thousand, eh?” Mallory looked at him for a long time without speaking. “Tell me, Miller, what odds are you offering on the boys on Kheros?”
“Yeah.” Miller nodded heavily. “Yeah, the boys on Kheros. Fd forgotten about them. I just keep thinkin’ about me and that damned cliff.” He looked hopefully across the table at the vast bulk of Andrea. “Or maybe Andrea there would carry me up. He’s big enough, anyway.”
Andrea made no reply. His eyes were half-closed, his thoughts could have been a thousand miles away.
“We’ll tie you hand and foot and haul you up on the end of a rope,” Stevens said unkindly. “We’ll try to pick a fairly sound rope,” he added carelessly. The words, the tone, were jocular enough, but the worry on his face belied them. Mallory apart, only Stevens appreciated the almost insuperable technical difficulties of climbing a sheer, unknown cliff in the darkness. He looked at Mallory questioningly. “Going up alone, sir, or–”
“Excuse me, please.” Andrea suddenly sat forward, his deep rumble of a voice rapid in the clear, idiomatic English he had learnt during his long association with Mallory. He was scribbling quickly on a piece of paper. “I have a plan for climbing this cliff. Here is a diagram. Does the Captain think this is possible?”
He passed the paper across to Mallory. Mallory looked at it, checked, recovered, all in the one instant. There was no diagram on it. There were only two large, printed words: “Keep talking.”
“I see,” Mallory said thoughtfully. “Very good indeed, Andrea. This has distinct possibilities.” He reversed the paper, held it up before him so that they could all see the words. Andrea had already risen to his feet, was padding cat-footed towards the door. “Ingenious, isn’t it, Corporal Miller,” he went on conversationally. “Might solve quite a lot of our difficulties.”
“Yeah.” The expression on Miller’s face hadn’t altered a fraction, the eyes were still half-closed against the smoke drifting up from the cigarette dangling between his lips. “Reckon that might solve the problem, Andrea–and get me up in one piece, too.” He laughed easily, concentrated on screwing a curiously-shaped cylinder on to the barrel of an automatic that had magically appeared in his left hand. “But I don’t quite get that funny line and the dot at–”
It was all over in two seconds–literally. With a deceptive ease and nonchalance Andrea opened the door with one hand, reached out with the other, plucked a wildly-struggling figure through the gap, set him on the ground again and closed the door, all in one concerted movement. It had been as soundless as it had been swift. For a second the eavesdropper, a hatchet-faced, swarthy Levantine in. badly-fitting white shirt and blue trousers, stood there in shocked immobility, blinking rapidly in the unaccustomed light. Then his hand dived in under his shirt.
“Look out!” Miller’s voice was sharp, the automatic lining up as Mallory’s hand closed over his.