He patted the stock affectionately. This was the Armalite AR-7, originally designed as a survival rifle for the American Air Force. It weighed less than three pounds and was guaranteed to float in water whether knocked down or ready to fire, but what made it suitable for his purpose was the fact that, stripped down, it measured less than seventeen inches in length and so could be smuggled about unobtrusively in a back pack.
He inserted a magazine containing eight rounds of long rifle and put another clip in his pocket, then he crawled backwards out of the grove of trees and began to make his way down to the river along a ravine he had previously chosen for the eventuality. He came out to the river's edge opposite the bluff and right on the bend of the river, and took shelter behind boulders which a long-gone glacier had left in its passage.
From his position on the outside bend of the river he could see both groups although neither, as yet, was aware of the other. He looked at the bluff and could not see Denison who was farther back up the hill. Nothing like adding confusion, he thought, as he raised the rifle to firing position.
As both groups were about to round the bend he fired, not at Kidder but just in front of him, and the sand spurted at Kidder's feet. Kidder yelled and rolled sideways and, as if by magic, all four men disappeared.
McCready did not see that sudden transformation of the scene; he had already turned and slammed another shot at the leading man of the trio which ricocheted off a rock by his head. The man ducked instinctively and went to ground fast, but not so fast that McCready did not see the pistol that suddenly appeared in his hand.
McCready withdrew into his niche like a tortoise drawing its head into its shell and waited to see what would happen next.
Denison heard the shot from below and jerked to attention. Even before he took the second quick pace back to the camp he heard the flat report of the second shot which echoed from the hill behind him. Then there was no sound but the thudding of his boots on the rock.
He s tooped to Diana's sleeping bag and found her already awake. 'Someone's shooting.'
'I heard. Wake the others.'
He roused Lyn and then went to Harding who, in spite of his pessimism, was fast asleep. 'Wassamatter?' he said drowsily, but came awake with a jerk as two more shots broke the early morning silence. 'What the hell?' Diana was gesturing vigorously. 'Over the ridge,' she called. 'Away from the river.' Harding hastily thrust his feet into his boots and cursed freely. Denison ran over to Diana who was helping Lyn.
'What about the gear?'
'Leave it. Leave everything except your gun. Get moving.' He hauled Lyn to her feet and they ran for it, up the hill and over the top of the ridge, a matter of some three hundred yards. There they waited, breathless, until Diana and Harding caught up. Three more shots were fired in rapid succession, and Denison said, 'It sounds like a bloody battle.'
'We've got to get lost,' said Diana. 'There's cover over there.' They ran for it.
On the other side of the river, at the water's edge, McCready watched and smiled. As he had figured, neither of the groups had time to find out where the shots had come from. They had taken cover immediately in the manner of professionals, and now they were dodging about on each side of the bluff in skirmish lines, ready for defence or attack. Kidder, on the left, caught a glimpse of a man on the right, and fired. He missed but, in firing, he exposed himself and someone took a shot at him. Another miss.
Kidder pulled back and unslung his pack which was hampering him. As the others did the same McCready smiled. A typical battle situation was developing in miniature. Kidder, to improve mobility, was divesting himself of supplies, which might be a good idea considering he outnumbered the opposition -- although he could not know that. But if he lost and was overrun and had to retreat then his supplies would be lost.
McCready patted his rifle again and withdrew, to worm himself up the ravine and back into his original position in the stand of stunted trees. On the way he heard three more shots fired. He picked up the glasses and studied the situation. Denison was gone from the rock and the camp was deserted, so it was likely that they had pulled back over the hill and gone to ground, which was the sensible thing to do.
He looked down at the river. The narrow strip of sand between the bluff and the water's edge was held at each end by two men, and both sides were engaged in a classic outflanking action. Kidder and another man were climbing the bluff on the left, obviously intending to come out on top. There they would have the advantage of height and dropping fire as well as greater numbers.
The only snag was that the opposition was doing the same with one man and he had got the idea first McCready, enjoying his grandstand seat, watched their progress with interest and estimated that the deserted camp on top of the bluff would be the next battleground. If the single man on the right could get himself established on top of the bluff before Kidder and his friend arrived he would stand a good chance despite the two to one odds.
Meanwhile the holding action at the bottom of the bluff continued with a desultory exchange of shots more to indicate the presence of opposition than to press an attack, McCready stroked his rifle, and thought, How to Start a War in One Easy Lesson. He hoped no small nation got the idea -- using atomic missiles instead of rifle bullets.
The man on the right made it to the top while Kidder and his man still had twenty yards to go. He came up slowly, looked at the deserted camp, and then ducked for cover behind a rock. Kidder came up to the top and also surveyed the camp from cover, then gestured to the other man to crawl farther along.
He shouted -- a thin cry that came to McCready across the river -- and they both broke into the open, running across the top of the bluff. The man in cover fired and Kidder's companion spun away and fell among the rocks Kidder dropped into cover and simultaneously there was a renewed outburst of fire from the base of the bluff to which McCready transferred his attention.
There had been a casualty on the other side and from the way the man nursed his arm McCready judged it to be broken. He heard a confused and distant shouting; Kidder was worming his way among the rocks in the direction of his wounded friend, and suddenly the other man on the bluff broke away and retreated.
Within fifteen minutes both sides were retreating in opposite directions, Kidder's group going down-river, one man limping heavily with a bullet in his leg, and the others heading up-river. Honours were even in an inconclusive engagement, and McCready thought that neither party knew just exactly what had happened.
Diana Hansen waited an hour after the last shot before making a move, then she said, 'I'll go and see what's happening.'
'I'll come with you,' said Denison.
She hesitated. 'All right. I'll go to the left, you go to the right. We move alternately, one covering the other.' She looked back at the others. 'You two give us general cover. If anyone shoots at us you start banging away fast; it doesn't matter if you don't hit anything -- just make a lot of noise.'
She went first and Denison watched her as she zigzagged forward up to the top of the ridge. Half-way up she stopped and waved him forward and he did his best to imitate what she had done. He flopped down when he was parallel with her and wondered how she had learned a trade like this.
She was on the move again and this time she got to the top of the ridge where she could look down on the camp. At her hand signal he also went forward and peered cautiously around a rock. The camp was deserted and nothing appeared to have been touched; he could even see a gleam from the open theodolite case where he had left it, forgetting to close the top.
She wriggled over to him. 'I'll go around to the left -- you to the right -- well come in on the camp from two sides. Don't be in too much of a hurry, and don't shoot at the first thing that moves -- it might be me.'
He nodded. She was just going away when he took another look at the camp and saw a movement. He grabbed her ankle as he ducked back. 'Someone down there,' he whispered.
She turned 'Where?'
'By the rock whe
re we kept watch.'
After a while Diana said, 'I don't see anyone.'
'I saw it,' said Denison. 'A movement by that rock.'
Again they waited and watched until Diana said, 'Must have been your imagination.'
Denison sighed. 'I suppose so.' His hand suddenly tightened on hers. 'No -- look! On the other side now.'
The figure of a man came over the edge of the bluff, paused a little wearily, and then walked slowly towards the camp. When he got there he stared about him and unslung his pack.
Diana clicked with her tongue. 'It's George McCready,' she said, and stood up.
McCready looked as though he was ready to drop on his feet. His clothing was soaked and his boots squelched when he walked. He saw them coming but made no move to advance. Instead he sat down and began to unlace his boots. 'That bloody river,' he said. 'That's the third time I've crossed it.'
What was all the shooting?' demanded Diana.
McCready described what had happened. 'One crowd was American; I don't know who the others were. The language sounded vaguely Slav.'
'Russian?'
'Could be,' said McCready. 'I hope so. If they're chasing us up here there's a good chance they won't be on to Carey.' He wrung out his socks. 'When I'm sixty I'll be an arthritic cripple.'
'So you set them fighting each other,' said Denison. 'I don't know if -- that was a good idea. They might think it was us, and next time they'll come shooting.'
McCready nodded. 'Now's the time to lose them. The best way of doing that is to cross the river and go back on the other side. That will give us the three days that Carey wanted us here.'
'But we don't want to lose them,' objected Diana. 'That isn't the object.'
1 know,' said McCready. 'But I'd like to get back to the cars and away while they're licking their wounds. We can leave plenty of signs to indicate where we've gone. They'll beat around here for a while -- if we're lucky they'll have another shooting match -- and then they'll follow. It's still gaining time for Carey and it's less risk for us.'
Diana thought a,bout it. 'All right.'
McCready cocked his head on one side and regarded Denison. 'The leader of the American mob was your old pal, Kidder.'
'Kidder!' said Denison incredulously.
'I thought he turned up a bit too opportunely in Helsinki,' said Diana. 'But the man sounded such a fool I discounted him.'
'If it's any consolation, so did I,' said McCready. 'But you know what it means -- our cousins of the CIA are muscling in.' He took a pair of dry socks from a plastic bag. 'Unless he's a renegade or a double agent. I fancy the CIA myself.' He looked up at Denison who was deep in thought. 'What's the matter with you? You look as though you've just been sandbagged.'
'For God's sake!' said Denison. 'It was Kidder!' He shook his head in a bewildered manner. 'The man who questioned me after I was knocked out in the sauna. I thought I recognized the voice but I couldn't place it because the American accent had gone.'
'Are you sure?' Diana's voice was sharp.
'I'm certain. I didn't associate the man with Kidder because we'd left him behind in Oslo. He hadn't appeared in Helsinki at that time. Is it important?'
'Could be,' said McCready. 'There's one bunch who knows you're not Meyrick -- the crowd who snatched you from Hampstead. But the man who questioned you assumed you were Meyrick. If it was Kidder then the CIA weren't responsible for the resculpting of that unlovely face of yours. All these bits of jigsaw come in handy.'
'Dr Harding and Lyn will be wond ering what happened to us,' said Diana.
Denison turned. 'I'll bring them back.' He started to walk up to the top of the ridge but then veered over to the rock where he had kept watch. Something niggled at the back of his mind -- he wondered how McCready could have got from one side of the camp to the other. The first movement he had seen from the top of the ridge had been by the rock, but McCready had come up the other side from the river.
Denison walked around the rock keeping his eyes on the ground. When McCready had come up his boots had been wet -- waterfilled -- and he had left a line of damp footprints over a smooth rock outcrop. Here there was also an out-crop but no footprints. He went to the other side of the rock and out of sight of Diana and McCready.
Something struck him on the back of the head and he felt a blinding pain and was driven to his knees. His vision swam and there was a roaring in his ears. The second thump on the head he did not feel but plunged headlong into darkness.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The bus rocked as it rolled along the narrow country road in the early morning. It was cold and Carey drew his coat closer about him. Armstrong, next to him, looked out of the window at the tall observation tower. It was drawing nearer.
The bus was full of Finns, most of whom were quiet at that early pre-work hour. Two seats ahead of Carey, on the aisle, sat Huovinen. He turned his head and looked back; his eyes were expressionless but Carey thought he could detect worry. Huovinen had been drinking again the previous night and Carey hoped his hangover did not get in the way of his efficiency.
Brakes squealed as the bus drew to a halt and Carey craned his neck to look through the forward windows. A soldier in Finnish uniform walked up and exchanged a. few words with the driver, then he smiled and waved the bus on. It jerked into motion again.
Carey took out his pipe and filled it with steady hands. He nudged Armstrong, and said in Swedish, 'Why don't you have a cigarette? Have you stopped smoking?'
Armstrong looked at him in surprise, then shrugged. If Carey wanted him to smoke a cigarette then he would smoke a cigarette. He felt in his pocket and took out a half-empty packet of Finnish cigarettes as the bus stopped again.
The bus driver leaned out of the cab and called to the advancing Russian soldier, 'Kolmekymtnentakuusi.' The soldier nodded and .climbed into the bus by way of the passenger door and surveyed the work party. He looked as though he was doing a head count Carey struck a match and lit his pipe, cupping his hands about the bowl and shrouding the lower part of his face. He seemed to be doing his best to make a smokescreen. Armstrong caught on fast and flicked on his cigarette lighter, guarding the flame with his hand as though the draught from up front was about to blow it out.
The Russian left the bus and waved it on and it lurched forward with a clash of gears and rolled past the frontier post. Armstrong averted his face from the window as the bus passed an officer, a square man with broad Slavic features. He felt a sudden tightening in his belly as he realized he was in Russia. He had been in Russia many times before, but not as an illegal entry -- and that had been the subject of a discussion with Carey.
Armstrong had argued for going into Russia quite legitimately through Leningrad. 'Why do we have to be illegal about it?' he asked.
'Because we'd have to be illegal anyway,' said Carey. We couldn't get to Enso legally -- the Russkies don't like foreigners wandering loose about their frontier areas. And they keep a watch on foreigners in Leningrad; if you're not back at the Europa Hotel they start looking for you. No, this is the best way. Over the border and back -- short and sharp -- without them even knowing we've been there.'
Black smoke streamed overhead from the factory chimneys as the bus trundled through Enso. It traversed the streets for some minutes and then went through a gateway and halted outside a very long, low building. The passengers gathered up their belongings and stood up. Carey looked at Huovinen who nodded, so he nudged Armstrong and they got up and joined the file behind Huovinen.
They went into the building through an uncompleted wall and emerged into an immense hall. At first Armstrong could not take in what he was seeing; not only was the sight unfamiliar but he had to follow Huovenin who veered abruptly to the right and out of the main stream. He led them around the end of a great machine and stopped where there was no one in sight. He was sweating slightly. 'I should be getting twice what you're paying me,' he said.
'Take it easy,' counselled Carey. 'What now?'
'I have to b
e around for the next hour,' said Huovenin, 'Laying' out the work and a fifteen-minute conference with Dzotenidze. I have to put up with that every morning.' He coughed and spat on the floor. 'I can't lead you out before then.'
'So we wait an hour,' said Carey. 'Where?'
Huovinen pointed. 'In the machine -- where else?'
Carey turned and looked at the half-constructed machine. Designed for continuous paper-making it was over three hundred yards long and about fifty feet wide. 'Get in the middle of there and take your coats off,' said Huovinen. 'I'll bring you some tools in about ten minutes. If anyone looks in at you be tightening bolts or something.'
Carey looked up at a crane from which a big steel roller hung. 'Just see that you don't drop that on my head,' he said. 'And don't be longer than an hour. Come on, Ivan.'
Armstrong followed Carey as he climbed inside the machine. When he looked back Huovinen had gone. They found a place where there was headroom and Carey took off his coat and looked around. 'In this snug situation a British working man would be playing cards,' he said. 'I don't know about the Finns.'
Armstrong bent and peered through a tangle of complexity. 'They're working,' he reported.
Carey grunted. 'Then let's look busy even if we're not.'
Presently a man walked by and stooped. There was a clatter of metal on concrete and footsteps hastened away. The tools,' said Carey. 'Get them.'
Armstrong crawled out and came back with a selection of spanners and a hammer. Carey inspected them and tried a spanner on the nearest bolt. 'What we do now,' he announced, 'is to take off this girder and then put it back -- and we keep on doing that until it's time to go.' He applied the spanner to a nut and heaved, then paused with a thoughtful look on his face. 'Just pop your head up there and see what happens when we remove this bit of iron. I don't want the whole bloody machine to collapse.'
Bagley, Desmond - The Tightrope Men Page 18