High Citadel / Landslide

by Desmond Bagley

  ‘I’m McGruder—Doctor McGruder.’

  ‘How did you know my name?’ asked Forester.

  ‘The papers in your pocket,’ said McGruder. ‘You carry an American passport.’

  ‘Look,’ said Forester urgently. ‘You’ve got to let me out of here. I’ve got things to do. I’ve got to—’

  ‘You’re not leaving here for a long time,’ said McGruder abruptly. ‘And you couldn’t stand if you tried.’

  Forester sagged back in bed. ‘Where is this place?’

  ‘San Antonio Mission,’ said McGruder,’ ‘I’m the Big White Chief here. Presbyterian, you know.’

  ‘Anywhere near Altemiros?’

  ‘Sure. Altemiros village is just down the road—almost two miles away.’

  ‘I want a message sent,’ said Forester rapidly. ‘Two messages—one to Ramón Sueguerra in Altemiros and one to Santillana to the—’

  McGruder held up his hand. ‘Whoa up, there; you’ll have a relapse if you’re not careful. Take it easy.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ said Forester bitterly. ‘This is urgent.’

  ‘For God’s sake nothing is urgent,’ said McGruder equably. ‘He has all the time there is. What I’m interested in right now is why one man should come over an impossible pass in a blizzard carrying another man.’

  ‘Did Rohde carry me? How is he?’

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ said McGruder. ‘I’d be interested to know why he carried you.’

  ‘Because I was dying,’ said Forester. He looked at McGruder speculatively, sizing him up. He did not want to make a blunder—the communists had some very unexpected friends in the strangest places—but he did not think he could go wrong with a Presbyterian doctor, and McGruder looked all right. ‘All right,’ he said at last. ‘I suppose I’ll have to tell you. You look okay to me.’

  McGruder raised his eyebrows but said nothing, and Forester told him what was happening on the other side of the mountains, beginning with the air crash but leaving out such irrelevancies as the killing of Peabody, which, he thought, might harm his case. As he spoke McGruder’s eyebrows crawled up his scalp until they were almost lost in his hair.

  When Forester finished he said, ‘Now that’s as improbable a story as I’ve ever heard. You see, Mr Forester, I don’t entirely trust you. I had a phone call from the Air Force base—there’s one quite close—and they were looking for you. Moreover, you were carrying this.’ He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pistol. ‘I don’t like people who carry guns—it’s against my religion.’

  Forester watched as McGruder skilfully worked the action and the cartridges flipped out. He said, ‘For a man who doesn’t like guns you know a bit too much about their workings.’

  ‘I was a Marine at Iwo Jima,’ said McGruder. ‘Now why would the Cordilleran military be interested in you?’

  ‘Because they’ve gone communist.’

  ‘Tchah!’ said McGruder disgustedly. ‘You talk like an old maid who sees burglars under every bed. Colonel Rodriguez is as communist as I am.’

  Forester felt a sudden hope. Rodriguez was the commandant of Fourteenth Squadron and the friend of Aguillar. ‘Did you speak to Rodriguez?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said McGruder. ‘It was some junior officer.’ He paused. ‘Look, Forester, the military want you and I’d like you to tell me why.’

  ‘Is Fourteenth Squadron still at the airfield?’ countered Forester.

  ‘I don’t know. Rodriguez did say something about moving—but I haven’t seen him for nearly a month.’

  So it was a toss-up, thought Forester disgustedly. The military were friend or foe and he had no immediate means of finding out—and it looked as though McGruder was quite prepared to hand him over. He said speculatively, ‘I suppose you try to keep your nose clean. I suppose you work in with the local authorities and you don’t interfere in local politics.’

  ‘Indeed I don’t,’ said McGruder. ‘I don’t want this mission closed. We have enough trouble as it is.’

  ‘You think you have trouble with Lopez, but that’s nothing to the trouble you’ll have when the commies move in,’ snapped Forester. ‘Tell me, is it against your religion to stand by and wait while your fellow human beings—some of them fellow countrymen, not that that matters—are slaughtered not fifteen miles from where you are standing?’

  McGruder whitened about the nostrils and the lines deepened about his mouth. ‘I almost think you are telling the truth,’ he said slowly.

  ‘You’re damn right I am.’

  Ignoring the profanity McGruder said, ‘You mentioned a name—Sueguerra. I know Señor Sueguerra very well. I play chess with him whenever I get into the village. He is a good man, so that is a point for you. What was the other message—to Santillana?’

  ‘The same message to a different man,’ said Forester patiently. ‘Bob Addison of the United States Embassy. Tell them both what I’ve told you—and tell Addison to get the lead out of his breeches fast.’

  McGruder wrinkled his brow. ‘Addison? I believe I know all the Embassy staff, but I don’t recall an Addison.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ said Forester. ‘He’s an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency of the United States. We don’t advertise.’

  McGruder’s eyebrows crawled up again. ‘We?’

  Forester grinned weakly. ‘I’m a C.I.A. officer, too. But you’ll have to take it on trust—I don’t carry the information tattooed on my chest.’

  II

  Forester was shocked to hear that Rohde was likely to lose his leg. ‘Frostbite in a very bad open wound is not conducive to the best of health,’ said McGruder dryly. ‘I’m very sorry about this; I’ll try to save the leg, of course—it’s a pity that this should happen to so brave a man.’

  McGruder now appeared to have accepted Forester’s story, although he had taken a lot of convincing and had doubts about the wisdom of the State Department. ‘They’re stupid,’ he said. ‘We don’t want open American interference down here—that’s certain to stir up anti-Americanism. It’s giving the communists a perfect opening.’

  ‘For God’s sake, I’m not interfering actively,’ protested Forester. ‘We knew that Aguillar was going to make his move and my job was to keep a friendly eye on him, to see that he got through safely.’ He looked at the ceiling and said bitterly, ‘I seem to have balled it up, don’t I?’

  ‘I don’t see that you could have done anything different,’ observed McGruder. He got up from the bedside. ‘I’ll check up on which squadron is at the airfield, and I’ll go to see Sueguerra myself.’

  ‘Don’t forget the Embassy.’

  ‘I’ll put a phone call through right away.’

  But that proved to be difficult because the line was not open. McGruder sat at his desk and fumed at the unresponsive telephone. This was something that happened about once a week and always at a critical moment. At last he put down the hand-set and turned to take off his white coat, but hesitated as he heard the squeal of brakes from the courtyard. He looked through his office window and saw a military staff car pull up followed by a truck and a military ambulance. A squad of uniformed and armed men debussed from the truck under the barked orders of an N.C.O., and an officer climbed casually out of the staff car.

  McGruder hastily put on the white coat again and when the officer strode into the room he was busy writing at his desk. He looked up and said, ‘Good day—er—Major. To what do I owe this honour?’

  The officer clicked his heels punctiliously. ‘Major Garcia, at your service.’

  The doctor leaned back in his chair and put both his hands flat on the desk. ‘I’m McGruder. What can I do for you, Major?’

  Garcia flicked his glove against the side of his well-cut breeches. ‘We—the Cordilleran Air Force, that is—thought we might be of service,’ he said easily. ‘We understand that you have two badly injured men here—the men who came down from the mountain. We offer the use of our medical staff and the base hospital at the airfield
.’ He waved. ‘The ambulance is waiting outside.’

  McGruder swivelled his eyes to the window and saw the soldiers taking up position outside. They looked stripped for action. He flicked his gaze back to Garcia. ‘And the escort!’

  Garcia smiled. ‘No es nada,’ he said casually. ‘I was conducting a small exercise when I got my orders, and it was as easy to bring the men along as to dismiss them and let them idle.’

  McGruder did not believe a word of it. He said pleasantly, ‘Well, Major, I don’t think we need trouble the military. I haven’t been in your hospital at the airfield, but this place of mine is well enough equipped to take care of these men. I don’t think they need to be moved.’

  Garcia lost his smile. ‘But we insist,’ he said icily.

  McGruder’s mobile eyebrows shot up. ‘Insist, Major Garcia? I don’t think you’re in a position to insist.’

  Garcia looked meaningly at the squad of soldiers in the courtyard. ‘No?’ he asked silkily.

  ‘No,’ said McGruder flatly. ‘As a doctor, I say that these men are too sick to be moved. If you don’t believe me, then trot out your own doctor from that ambulance and let him have a look at them. I am sure he will tell you the same.’

  For the first time Garcia seemed to lose his self-possession. ‘Doctor?’ he said uncertainly. ‘Er…we have brought no doctor.’

  ‘No doctor?’ said McGruder in surprise. He wiggled his eyebrows at Garcia. ‘I am sure you have misinterpreted your orders, Major Garcia. I don’t think your commanding officer would approve of these men leaving here unless under qualified supervision; and I certainly don’t have the time to go with you to the airfield—I am a busy man.’

  Garcia hesitated and then said sullenly, ‘Your telephone—may I use it?’

  ‘Help yourself,’ said McGruder. ‘But it isn’t working—as usual.’

  Garcia smiled thinly and spoke into the mouthpiece. He got an answer, too, which really surprised McGruder and told him of the seriousness of the position. This was not an ordinary breakdown of the telephone system—it was planned; and he guessed that the exchange was under military control.

  When next Garcia spoke he came to attention and McGruder smiled humourlessly; that would be his commanding officer and it certainly wouldn’t be Rodriguez—he didn’t go in for that kind of spit-and-polish. Garcia explained McGruder’s attitude concisely and then listened to the spate of words which followed. There was a grim smile on his face as he put down the telephone. ‘I regret to tell you, Doctor McGruder, that I must take those men.’

  He stepped to the window and called his sergeant as McGruder came to his feet in anger. ‘And I say the men are too ill to be moved. One of those men is an American, Major Garcia. Are you trying to cause an international incident?’

  ‘I am obeying orders,’ said Garcia stiffly. His sergeant came to the window and he gave a rapid stream of instructions, then turned to McGruder. ‘I have to inform you that these men stand accused of plotting against the safety of the State. I am under instructions to arrest them.’

  ‘You’re nuts,’ said McGruder. ‘You take these men and you’ll be up to your neck in diplomats.’ He moved over to the door.

  Garcia stood in front of him. ‘I must ask you to move away from the door, Doctor McGruder, or I will be forced to arrest you, too.’ He spoke over McGruder’s shoulder to a corporal standing outside. ‘Escort the doctor into the courtyard.’

  ‘Well, if you’re going to feel like that about it, there’s nothing I can do,’ said McGruder. ‘But that commanding officer of yours—what’s his name…?’

  ‘Colonel Coello.’

  ‘Colonel Coello is going to find himself in a sticky position.’ He stood aside and let Garcia precede him into the corridor.

  Garcia waited for him, slapping the side of his leg impatiently. ‘Where are the men?’

  McGruder led the way down the corridor at a rapid pace. Outside Forester’s room he paused and deliberately raised his voice. ‘You realize I am letting these men go under protest. The military have no jurisdiction here and I intend to protest to the Cordilleran government through the United States Embassy. And I further protest upon medical grounds—neither of these men is fit to be moved.’

  ‘Where are the men?’ repeated Garcia.

  ‘I have just operated on one of them—he is recovering from an anaesthetic. The other is also very ill and I insist on giving him a sedative before he is moved.’

  Garcia hesitated and McGruder pressed him. ‘Come, Major; military ambulances have never been noted for smooth running—you would not begrudge a man a painkiller.’ He tapped Garcia on the chest. ‘This is going to make headlines in every paper across the United States. Do you want to make matters worse by appearing anti-humanitarian?’

  ‘Very well,’ said Garcia unwillingly.

  ‘I’ll get the morphine from the surgery,’ said McGruder and went back, leaving Garcia standing in the corridor.

  Forester heard the raised voices as he was polishing the plate of the best meal he had ever enjoyed in his life. He realized that something was amiss and that McGruder was making him appear sicker than he was. He was willing to play along with that, so he hastily pushed the tray under the bed and when the door opened he was lying flat on his back with his eyes closed. As McGruder touched him he groaned.

  McGruder said, ‘Mr Forester, Major Garcia thinks you will be better looked after in another hospital, so you are being moved.’ As Forester opened his eyes McGruder frowned at him heavily. ‘I do not agree with this move, which is being done under force majeure, and I am going to consult the appropriate authorities. I am going to give you a sedative so that the journey will not harm you, although it is not far—merely to the airfield.’

  He rolled up the sleeve of Forester’s pyjamas and dabbed at his arm with cotton-wool, then produced a hypodermic syringe which he filled from an ampoule. He spoke casually. ‘The tape round your chest will support your ribs but I wouldn’t move around much—not unless you have to.’ There was a subtle emphasis on the last few words and he winked at Forester.

  As he pushed home the needle in Forester’s arm he leaned over and whispered, ‘It’s a stimulant.’

  ‘What was that?’ said Garcia sharply.

  ‘What was what?’ asked McGruder, turning and skewering Garcia with an icy glare. ‘I’ll trouble you not to interfere with a doctor in his duties. Mr Forester is a very sick man, and on behalf of the United States government I am holding you and Colonel Coello responsible for what happens to him. Now, where are your stretcher-bearers?’

  Garcia snapped to the sergeant at the door, ‘Una camilla.’ The sergeant bawled down the corridor and presently a stretcher was brought in. McGruder fussed about while Forester was transferred from the bed, and when he was settled said, ‘There, you can take him.’

  He stepped back and knocked a kidney basin on the floor with a clatter. The noise was startling in that quiet room, and while everyone’s attention was diverted McGruder hastily thrust something hard under Forester’s pillow.

  Then Forester was borne down the corridor and into the open courtyard and he winced as the sun struck his eyes. Once in the ambulance he had to wait a long time before anything else happened and he closed his eyes, feigning sleep, because the soldier on guard kept peering at him. Slowly he brought his hand up under the coverlet towards the pillow and eventually touched the butt of a gun.

  Good old McGruder, he thought; the Marines to the rescue. He hooked his finger in the trigger guard and gradually brought the gun down to his side, where he thrust it into the waistband of his pyjamas at the small of his back where it could not be seen when he was transferred to another bed. He smiled to himself; at other times lying on a hard piece of metal might be thought extremely uncomfortable, but he found the touch of the gun very comforting.

  And what McGruder had said was comforting, too. The tape would hold him together and the stimulant would give him strength to move. Not that he thought he needed it; his s
trength had returned rapidly once he had eaten, but no doubt the doctor knew best.

  Rohde was pushed into the ambulance and Forester looked across at the stretcher. He was unconscious and there was a hump under the coverlet where his legs were. His face was pale and covered with small beads of sweat and he breathed stertorously.

  Two soldiers climbed into the ambulance and the doors were slammed, and after a few minutes it moved off. Forester kept his eyes closed at first—he wanted the soldiers to believe that the hypothetical sedative was taking effect. But after a while he decided that these rank and file would probably not know anything about a sedative being given to him, so he risked opening his eyes and turned his head to look out of the window.

  He could not see much because of the restricted angle of view, but presently the ambulance stopped and he saw a wrought-iron gate and through the bars a large board. It depicted an eagle flying over a snow-capped mountain, and round this emblem in a scroll and written in ornate letters were the words: ESQUADRON OCTAVO.

  He closed his eyes in pain. They had drawn the wrong straw; this was the communist squadron.

  III

  McGruder watched the ambulance leave the courtyard followed by the staff car. Then he went into his office, stripped off his white coat and put on his jacket. He took his car keys from a drawer and went round to the hospital garage, where he got a shock. Lounging outside the big doors was a soldier in a sloppy uniform—but there was nothing sloppy about the rifle he was holding, nor about the gleaming bayonet.

  He walked over and barked authoritatively, ‘Let me pass.’

  The soldier looked at him through half-closed eyes and shook his head, then spat on the ground. McGruder got mad and tried to push his way past but found the tip of the bayonet pricking his throat. The soldier said, ‘You see the sergeant—if he says you can take a car, then you take a car.’

  McGruder backed away, rubbing his throat. He turned on his heel and went to look for the sergeant, but got nowhere with him. The sergeant was a sympathetic man when away from his officers and his broad Indian face was sorrowful. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor,’ he said. ‘I just obey orders—and my orders are that no one leaves the mission until I get contrary orders.’