They took the prisoner, sullen quiet, on towards the bank of the Kupa river.
The knife's blade was back at his throat.
Penn led the charge, and his bitten hand dragged the man forward. He had needed to be cruel to have hit so hard with the heel of his hand. He did not hate the man. There were flares, all the time, bursting high behind them ... He had respect for the man ... He knew of the deep and raw courage that was required to make a break. He felt that the man was in his care. He did not think about Mary Braddock, nor about Katica Dub-elj, and he did not think about Dorrie Mowat. The man was in his care, and he owed Milan Stankovic his protection. The man would not fight again ... it was finished for Milan Stankovic, he had fought and failed, but respect was won. When the flares died, when they fell back doused, then there was the full moon's light, and the fast-going clouds had moved on. They ran, stumbled, charged, pulled and pushed the weight of Milan Stankovic, down the path that ran beside the single length of barbed wire that marked the minefield. He could not judge how far behind the chasing pack were, but all caution was gone .. .
Ahead, through the trees, he saw the dark mass of the Kupa river.
There were silver trellis lines on the darkness where the force of the current swirled.
They burst the last cover of the trees. They came onto the narrow path that ran along the upper bank of the great river. She was tugging at his coat, pecking at him for his attention. The cover of the trees was behind him. The reeds nestled along the bank ahead of him. The shouting and the whistle blasts were behind him. The river and the silver network of lines were ahead of him.
There was a killing flatness in her voice.
"We came too early. We are an hour ahead of the rendezvous. You said we should lie up, but we cannot.. . We came too early for Ham, for the rendezvous, for the boat. Did you not know that ... ?"
She was at his back, the barrier was ahead of him.
Another flare soared high behind him, and he saw the far width of the river ahead of him. Milan Stankovic rocked with muffled laughter, and he would not have understood what she said, only the tone of despair. Penn turned. Eyes going past the babbled laughter of the man who croaked under the gag, and he was trying to speak as he laughed, as if now the knife at his beard and his throat no longer terrorized him.
She destroyed him because he had not thought it through when he had led the stampede flight towards the Kupa river.
He rifled at her pockets, felt first the weight of the pistol, then the bulk of the torch. He stood on the path above the deep flow of the river and he shaded with the palm of his hand the beam of the torch.
He made the signal. He flicked the button of the torch, on and off, on and off, waited for the answering light, on and off, on and off, waited to see the boat dragged down the far-away bank, on and off, on and off.
The voice carried by the loud-hailer echoed sharply across the river width.
"Penn, you have no boat. There is not going to be a boat .. ."
'.. . You should abandon your prisoner. Penn, you and the woman, Schmidt, should take your chance in the water. Penn, Hamilton is not here, there is no boat. You should immediately release your prisoner .. ."
It was a long and straight track, and it went by a well-constructed building that was roofless and abandoned. The track went all the way to the river. Marty saw the flares that lit the skyline, and the flares silhouetted the group at the end of the track. He was leading Mary Braddock towards the group and the jeeps and the Rover car. Below the flares, beyond the group, separated by the width of darkness and silver, Marty saw the winking, on and off, of the light.
'.. If you try to bring your prisoner across, you will be identified by flashlight. We have authority to shoot if you attempt to cross with your prisoner. Release him immediately ..."
He had snapped off the torch. The amplified voice bayed across the river. '.. . You have to take your chance in the river, just you and the German woman. For fuck's sake, Penn, move yourself. Penn, are you coming? We are forbidden to give covering fire .. . Just you and the German woman, not the prisoner, get into the water .. . Penn, you don't have time .. . Do it ..." He could let the man go. He could walk away from the man. He could turn the man loose. To turn the man loose, to permit the man to walk away, might save her life, Penn's life .. . She could hear the voices now, behind her, carried towards the bank by the amplification of the megaphone. He had a hold of Milan Stankovic, and he seemed to look into her face, and she did not challenge him, and she felt no fear. She wriggled clear of the straps of the backpack, let it fall. He pulled Milan Stankovic down the bank and she slithered after them. They splashed into the cold of the water, and she clung to the man and tried to hold the knife blade steady against his beard and his throat. He never turned to her, never asked it of her, just assumed it, that she would follow him. The mud of the river's edge was over her boots, the slime was round her feet. The water was at her waist, the cold groping at her groin. There were three, four, metres of reeds at the side of the river, in mud against the bank. She had her free hand, not the hand with the knife blade against Milan Stankovic's throat, tight on the mouth of the man. They made strong waded steps through the reeds, each step sinking in the mud bed. They were going away from the flares, away from the megaphone that was silenced, away from the closing crash of the pursuit. He was, to her, a simple and decent and ordinary and obstinate man, and she felt a love of him. They went down river, they went with the flow goading them on, and once they foundered and the chill of the water was at her shoulders and the water was in Milan Stankovic's nostrils and the water was over Penn's head. She wanted so much to tell her father of Penn, tell her father how she had known always that he was a man, Penn, of principle .. . tell her father how they had gone down the river bank, hidden by the first summer growth of the reeds. Low against the water's surface, the power of the current restrained by the reeds, she could see across the full width of the river, and it did not seem possible to her that she could ever get to tell her father of the man she loved. On and on, more mud, more slips, putting further behind them the flares and the shouting and the chasing pack. She wanted so badly to tell her father ... if he freed the man, if he left the man, then the chance to cross was theirs, but he would not, and she did not ask it. A long distance gone. There was a cacophony of flapping movement in the trees above. A heron flew across the face of the moon. There was a pallet held by the reeds. Across the river a small light burned. The light was in a window. The pallet was one that would have had stacked on it fertilizer bags, or seed sacks. The pallet of coarse wooden strips must have been discarded in a field, upstream, and taken by the winter's flood water. It was for the principle, and he did not speak to her, made no effort to strengthen her, but she saw that he took in his fingers the man's beard, the hair on his cheek, and he gave the hair a small pull as if to reassure the man, as if to give him his protection. He dragged the pallet out from the reeds and held it against the flow of the current, and he levered the torso of the man up onto the surface of the pallet. He kicked off from the mud bed in which the reeds grew. She swam beside him. They pushed the pallet clear from the bank. The current caught them. Milan Stankovic flailed with his legs and Penn was one side of the pallet and she was the other, and they tried to steer a course against the power. A small light burned in the window that was downstream across the river. They were crouched behind the wheels and body work of the jeeps because the Intelligence Officer had said that from the Serb side they might shoot. And he had the grim dry smile on his face, washed in the moonlight, of a man who enjoys a fucked-up failure. Beside him was the First Secretary, behind him were Marty Jones and Mary Braddock, ahead of him and lying prone were the Special Forces troops.
Marty Jones trembled.
Mary Braddock gazed ahead, without voice, without feeling.
They watched the torch beams cavort on the far bank, up into the trees, onto the path, down among the reeds, and out across the darkness and silver lines of the river.<
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Far down the river bank, way too far, the First Secretary saw a single light, steady like a beacon.
He fought to drive the pallet forward.
He no longer felt the cold of the water.
He seemed to hear Dome's mocking and Dome's laughter.
The man no longer kicked with his legs as if the weight of his river-logged boots was too great. Penn thought that Milan Stankovic had surrendered to the power of the river. He no longer had the support of Ulrike, knew that she was beaten by the pressure of the current. They were lower in the water than they had first been, and the level of the water was above his shoulders and washed over the wood strips of the pallet, and the water lapped on the hips of Milan Stankovic.
They were not halfway across.
He could see the small, constant light ahead.
Beneath them was the great dark depth of the river, pulling at them, tugging at them to take them down. If they were no longer able to drive the pallet forward, if they drifted, then the river would take them down. They went slower, and the current was greater, and the small light ahead did not seem closer. He kicked harder, kicked from the last of his strength, and when he tried to drag the night air into his lungs then he was sucking in the foulness of the river. Her body was beside him, but she could only paddle her feet, could not kick.
Penn spluttered, Tell them that we tried .. . Tell them someone had to try .. ."
He had a hold of her hand. It was not difficult for Penn to break her grip on the pallet. He seemed to show her the small light that did not waver. He did it quickly. He broke her grip on the pallet, and he pushed her away from him, from the sinking pallet, from the motionless weight of Milan Stankovic. He saw that she was clear in the water. He saw the whiteness of her face and the brightness of her eyes and the slicked hair of her head. The man was sliding back from the pallet. She had tried to teach him to be cruel, and she had failed. He held the man as best he could, and he kicked. The power of the current hacked at his strength. Penn did not see her again. The water was rising around him. Penn did not see the light again. "It was what I saw from my window. Because it was a full moon I saw them very easily. I saw them from the time that they made the heron fly, when they came out of the reed bed with their raft thing. They made good speed at first, and they would have felt that it was possible, but if you think that you find weakness in the great Mother that is the Kupa river, then you fool yourself. The river plays the game of tricking you, there is no weakness. The river brings you on, away from the safety of the bank, then tricks you .. ." He sat in his chair of stained oak beside the window and the oil lamp threw a feeble light across the room. He spoke gently, but with respect, as if he had a fear of giving offence to the great Mother. "I could see them all of the time. Good speed at first, but that is the way of the great Mother because from the south bank, from their bank, the river bed is more shallow and the current is less strong. When you come further into the flow of the river then you will find the true strength of the great Mother .. . Of course it is possible to cross if you have a good boat, if you have oars and you have been God-given good muscles, of course it is easy if you have the engine for the boat.. . but the river watches for your weakness, and if you are weak then the river will punish you .. ." The woman sat bowed on the bare boards. She was in front of the stove, with the pistol close to her feet. She wore a faded old dressing gown tight around her, borrowed from the farmer's wife, who had bought it in the market at Karlovac thirty-one years before, and draped over the dressing gown was the farmer's greatcoat. She did not speak. Her clothes, sodden from the river, were across a chair beside her.
"The strength of the great Mother, where she finds your weakness, is when you come to the centre where the current is most powerful. At the centre, coming from the far side, is where the drag pulls at you. When they were coming, the year before the last year, the Partizan bastards, there were deer that ran ahead of their gunfire. I saw a deer come into the water, running in fear, a big stag, a good head on it, and it could swim until it reached the centre of the river ... I can only say what I saw. It was at the centre that he pushed the woman away. I heard his voice, but I do not know what he said because it was foreign and because the river makes its own sound, the voice of the great Mother is never silenced. I think that he pushed her away so that she could swim free. She was so lucky .. . perhaps the attention of the great Mother was on him and his friend, perhaps the great Mother ignored the woman, swimming free. I could see it from my window, the man and his friend taken down the river .. ."
They listened. They were crowded into the room. The mud fell onto the board floor from the boots of the Intelligence Officer, from the shoes of the First Secretary and Marty Jones and Mary Braddock .. . She did not understand a word that was said by the old farmer, but there was a grim sadness on his face and she felt a release. They were all touched by Dorrie, her daughter. She felt her freedom.
"They were taken down the river, the great Mother held them. They could not go from the hold of the current at the centre of the river. The raft thing was lower in the water. He tried to kick a last time, but the strength was gone from him. Was his friend wounded? I think his friend was wounded because his friend had no use of his arms. They lost the raft thing. I saw him hold his friend up in the water, as if he supported him. He would not be able to save his friend, I could see that. If he had loosed his friend, given his friend to the great Mother, then perhaps, perhaps ... I do not know ... all the time he tried to help his friend. They went under. I saw them again and they were held in the current, and I knew it would not be long. Just their heads, for one moment I saw just their heads, and still he tried to protect him, his friend. I did not see them another time. Who was his friend that he would not leave? They were so small, they were against such power. I did not see them another time .. ."
They took the woman with them, and the old farmer was told that his wife's dressing gown and his greatcoat would be returned in the morning.
Later, the Intelligence Officer would use the field telephone to communicate a satisfactory situation to his enemy. Later, the First Secretary would send a three-line encoded message to the dishes on the roof of Vauxhall Cross. Later, Marty Jones would return to his converted freight container to dismantle a camp bed and unfasten a chain linked to a pair of handcuffs, and to arrange for ballistic tests to be made on a Makharov pistol.
Later, Mary Braddock would take her small suitcase to the airport.
Later, the shells would be taken from the artillery pieces that faced Karlovac and Sisak, and technicians would stand down the ground-to-ground missiles that could reach the southern suburbs of Zagreb.
Later, the troops of the Ustase bastards and the Partizan bastards would search the reed beds on their side of the Kupa river, and find nothing.
They went out into the bright moonlight and walked away from Dome's place, turned their backs on Dome's war.
EPILOGUE
He had tried three times to dial the number, and each time the telephone had given him an unobtainable tone. Henry Carter pushed himself up. He stretched. His hands were behind his neck and he arched his back and let out a short squeaked cry. He went to the desk nearest his own. No, she was not eating chocolate that morning. Yes, she wore a prim new blouse. She looked up at him, away from her screen, nervously. He smiled. He apologized. He said it had been disgraceful of him to have shocked her with that quite revolting photograph the morning before, and he was reaching into his wallet. He offered her a five-pound note and said it was for the dry-cleaning of her blouse, and if there was anything left over, then she should purchase some little trifle .. . God, what sort of little trifles did young women buy with the change from the dry-cleaning of a chocolate-stained blouse? .. . And he needed her help. The senior dragon was not in sight. Please, he needed to dial an out-of-London number, and couldn't seem to manage it. Of course the telephones could only be used for in-London calls, but there had to be a way. She knew the way. She put the five-pound bankno
te into her purse, and blushed, and told him what digits he should dial to obtain it, and he made a little joke about a nephew in Australia. She was gazing up at him, and his fingers rubbed, embarrassed, across his cheek stubble, and he should have taken the time to find that hidden razor, and should have brushed his teeth, and should have changed his socks .. . In her face, he thought he saw simple kindness. "Has it been awful, Mr. Carter? It must have been a pretty awful file to have kept you here, all yesterday, all through the night. Is it something really sad .. . ? Sorry, shouldn't have asked that, should I, I'm not need-to-know."
Heart of Danger Page 40