by John Creasey
Before he rose to go he spoke quietly but with a conviction and a feeling which forced the personal issues to one side.
‘Drusilla, we haven’t had much opportunity of talking for some time, and I’ve had to give you information piecemeal. I’m going to try to sum up. You, and only you of the party in Orlanto, knew that from first to last your task was to distract the Guarda from our main operatives. With the exception of three or four members, the Cores is strictly loyal to the President and the Government, but dissatisfied by the food situation and other difficulties. The Guarda is tolerated by some, and looked upon as an unimportant body of political agitators by others. There’s little doubt that the Government really thinks that the chief danger to the country comes from Fonesca and his Social Patriots. The Government has been persuaded that the trouble up and down the country is a quarrel between the Guarda and the Social Patriots, and that when it is over both sides will be exhausted and the Government can step in to make the peace. Actually only a minor fragment of the Guarda has been seen in the open - you know that. The main putsch is planned for the next few days. Great stores of arms are ready in various parts of the country, but all of them are within a comparatively short distance of the coast - as is all of the country. The putsch can be frustrated by the confiscation or destruction of those stores, but the guards at them are too strong for any police action, and attempts to convince the Government that military action is necessary would be futile. The one and only way to prevent the rising is to strike before it starts.’
Drusilla said quietly: ‘I know, but are the Patriots strong enough?’
‘On their own, no,’ said the Marquis. ‘They will get help, and I have it ready. But it must not be suspected that the help is English. Armed English intervention in an internal matter would bring about a crisis between the Catanese and Allied Governments as they now stand. But you can take it as read that the help will be cleverly camouflaged, and I think it will be strong enough. No one but myself and Fonesca, in this country, knows exactly where it is nor whence it is coming. No one will know until it has actually landed and gone into action. When that action is over, and if it is successful—I believe it will be—the position will be simplified in one way and complicated in another. Faced with a fait accompli the Guarda will be helpless, and when that is known the main body of the Social Patriots, including some of the leaders, amongst them the Bombarda brothers, if my information is correct, will want to make a counter-stroke to take over the Government. Fonesca agrees that it would be fatal, and lead only to the civil upheaval we are trying to avoid, and so Don Salvos is the one man to whom the country can turn for a lead. A change of leadership is needed, nominal if you like, but a change which will make the people believe that things will improve.’
‘Will they?’ asked Drusilla quietly.
‘Whitehall has promised food ships for Catania as soon as the internal dissensions are settled, but not before. So much depends on it, Drusilla, that it hardly bears thinking about. Against it, individuals have to be weighed lightly. But even knowing that, it’s more than worth it?’
He made the words a question, and Drusilla nodded. She understood fully what he meant, knew that he was talking of Brian and Palfrey.
Soon afterwards the Marquis left; and later de Barros called again.
Drusilla was at her most vivacious and attractive during the evening at the casino, where a few hundred people gathered to gamble and dance in the face of the approaching tumult.
Through the hours of tension Drusilla acted with a desperation and a brilliancy which brought men flocking to her, but she kept with de Barros, who was drinking hard, and slowly she turned the talk to Brian and Palfrey.
She confirmed that they were not far away, and she learned also that van Hoysen was dead.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Out of the Darkness
Some way from the casino where Drusilla was playing, the Marquis looked across a low-ceilinged, smoke-filled room to Stefan, who was sitting at ease in an easy-chair and smoking one of his long cigarettes. Yet despite his appearance of ease the Russian was clearly on edge; there was a mingling of satisfaction and apprehension in his eyes.
He was saying: ‘And so, m’sieu, we have Don Salvos’ assurance that if the Social Patriots are able to overcome the Guarda he will offer his services to the country. Palfrey talked to Don Salvos three nights ago in a way which persuaded the man to change his mind. Where is Palfrey?’
The Marquis told him what he knew.
‘When the reports of trouble come in to the Guarda headquarters I don’t know how they will react. Probably Palfrey and Brian know, by now, the names of some of the ringleaders, and those rebels can only save themselves by killing all who can indict them. We have to be realistic’
He held out his hand. ‘All the luck in the world, Andromovitch.’
The Russian’s big hand closed over his.
‘Mine the sideshow, m’sieu, and yours the play,’ he said simply. ‘God go with you.’
The Marquis went out immediately, and was escorted by a Patriot across dark fields to the road, where he reached a car and was driven to Torvil. Soon afterwards he was in the casino, and saw Drusilla and de Barros at one of the tables, the Catanese with a hand on Drusilla’s shoulder, an excited crowd around the table.
The Marquis was in the passage when they disappeared into her suite.
The Marquis’s face was drawn.
‘Don’t pay too high a price, Drusilla,’ he said, sotto voce.
He reached his own room, and opened the door.
Stepping through, he heard a movement inside which made him stop abruptly and drop his hand to his pocket.
There was a pause, and then a voice called: ‘You are alone?’
‘Yes,’ said the Marquis. ‘Bombarda, what are you doing here?’ He went forward quickly as the other door widened, and saw Vasca Bombarda. He drew up short as he saw the other’s muddied, torn clothes, stained in places with a caked brownish substance that he knew was congealed blood. The man’s face was bruised but he did not appear to be injured, and his eyes were blazing as he approached the Marquis.
‘What has happened?’ the Marquis asked more quietly.
‘I was captured,’ gasped Bombarda, ‘and escaped. I managed to get here, Excellency.’ He stopped and drew a deep breath, then clutched the Marquis’s hand. ‘There is no time to lose. Soon they will strike. Are you ready to act now?’
‘I am doing all I can,’ said the Marquis.
‘But what is it you are doing?’ demanded Bombarda urgently. ‘Where is Fonesca? Where has he gathered the men? I must go to him, Excellency, I cannot stay here.’
‘There’s no time to reach him. If they see you here I will lose any chance I have of convincing them that I’m with them. Can’t you see that?’
Bombarda stepped back and drew himself to his full height. His burning eyes were fixed on Brett’s, his lips trembled and he raised his clenched hands.
‘Excellency, I am beginning to doubt you. You will give me no information, your men have no knowledge of what you are preparing. You pretend to be with us, and also pretend to be with Silverra. For whom do you work?’
It seemed for a few tense minutes that the man would try to insist further, but finally Bombarda shrugged his shoulders and then said acidly: ‘I shall know who to blame if the arrangements fail.’
The door opened abruptly. The Marquis spun round with his hand at his hip, but Smith entered swiftly and urgently. The stocky man’s wooden expression was absent, and there was anxiety in his eyes.
‘They’re coming up to see you. Silverra, Corra and a couple of Huns,’ he said abruptly. ‘Bombarda’s got about two minutes.’
‘A Dios!’ exclaimed the Catanese. ‘Can I escape?’
‘You can try,’ said Smith. ‘Come on.’
He led Bombarda into the next suite, which he was using. The Catanese pulled his hat well down over his face and hunched his shoulders into his long cloak. They hur
ried down the rear staircase, passing only two servants on the way. The cool air of the night greeted them as they slipped across a courtyard filled with cars, climbed into one of the cars and drove off.
Throughout the short journey Bombarda uttered no word, but when they stopped he asked: ‘Where am I going?’
‘Andromovitch is here,’ said Smith. ‘You’ll be all right with him. He’ll be glad to see you, what? Wants to know where his friends are. Any ideas?’
Bombarda said nothing.
Andromovitch greeted him warmly, and Smith went off after a few minutes. For a while Bombarda said little, but then he began to talk of the prison, of Palfrey, Brian and van Hoysen, of the Marquis’s obstinacy.
At that Stefan smiled gently.
‘There are some things you can safely leave to the Marquis,
Bombarda, be assured of that. Now, this prison—’
He went on talking, quickly and quietly, and for a long time.
Palfrey and Brian were walking slowly about the cell. Palfrey was a yard ahead of the younger man, who was talking energetically but to little purpose. Brian seemed to find a relief in words, and it did not worry Palfrey.
‘It’s such a hades of a time!’ exclaimed Brian. ‘Two days! It’s more like a month! There must be a way out, Sap, we can’t stay here for the rest of our lives.’
‘We won’t,’ said Palfrey. ‘We’ll get away, Brian.’
‘But we don’t do anything about it! We don’t—’
He stopped abruptly then, for there were footsteps in the larger chamber next door. The footsteps stopped, a shuffling sound followed, and then there was a barked command followed by a crash of rifle-fire.
They lay down afterwards, and had a little sleep, but it was a restless night for both of them. The hands of the watch crawled round, and at seven o’clock next morning more coarse bread and weak coffee was pushed into the cell, the only kind of food they had had for the whole period of their incarceration. They walked and talked, walked and talked, until another day dragged by.
It grew dark outside, but they had only the dim blue light.
José Fonesca sat at a large table in the room of a cottage close to the shore, forty miles north of Orlanto. In the village there was not a single light showing, but there were dozens of men, all armed. The village was in Fonesca’s hands, he had taken it without difficulty during the afternoon. Now he sat with Hermandes Bombarda, who said harshly:
‘Will they come, José? Will they come, or has the Marquis cheated us? All the time my brother has wondered whether we can rely on the Marquis, he has suspected his intentions from the first. Will they come, José?’
‘Patience, my friend,’ said Fonesca. ‘I think they will come, I believe in the Marquis. And his friends.’
‘There are six points where we must attack, we shall need five hundred well-armed men at each, and we have no more than five hundred altogether. Are you sure there will be enough?’
‘The Marquis promised them,’ said José. ‘Have patience, Hermandes.’ He looked shrewdly into the other’s eyes, and then said quietly: ‘We will walk a little, I feel well enough and it will help you.’ He stood up quietly and moved with fairly steady steps towards the door. They walked slowly to the jetty, and when their eyes were fully accustomed to the darkness they could make out the shapes of other landing-places, hastily built that afternoon and evening.
Armed men stood on the landing-places, looking into the black void of the sea, straining their ears to catch a sound that was not of the wind or the waves, and their eyes to catch pinpoints of light which would herald the arrival of their friends – the men the Marquis had promised.
Suddenly Hermandes exclaimed: ‘Alight! I see a light!’
From a man near them came another exclamation, and then the light flashed again, a green spot, then a red one, then white. Three times in all the signal was shown and from the jetty a man flashed torches in turn.
‘They’re coming!’ exclaimed Hermandes. ‘He has not betrayed us, they are coming!’
Soon shapes appeared on the water, shallow boats of strange appearance, enshrouded by the darkness. José and Hermandes backed to the beach and watched the first boatload of men disembark. They moved silently, making so little noise that it was hardly possible for the men farther up the beach to hear them. Out of the gloom moved a small, squat shape, an amphibian tank with its engine beating a dull, heavy note. Others followed, and small field-guns were brought ashore. The five hundred Social Patriots were swollen to more than three thousand as the dark figures came from boat after boat.
A man came with the landing party, questions were asked, José and Hermandes approached him and exchanged greetings.
José led the man to the cottage, and once inside saw that he was looking at a tall, well-built man in a drab black battledress, but nothing of the uniform could hide the fact that he was English. His Catanese was fluent but heavily accented.
‘We’re all ready,’ he said. ‘We’re relying on you for transport and details, sir.’
‘We have them ready,’ said José. ‘We have guides and routes prepared. The farthest point where you will attack is a little more than a hundred miles from here, and there is another eighty miles away. You will not use English commandos for that?’
He collected the data he required, then went out and met his officers. The invaders were divided in columns, men clambering in lorries which the Patriots had ready. Within an hour of their arrival they were moving across country, and as they moved, aircraft from a carrier out at sea drew near, ready to give support at any point where they needed it.
José and Hermandes were with the first column, heading for Torvil. They travelled in a car fitted with radio, and as they went the attack on the nearest point where the Guarda was gathered began - a swift, devastating assault with light tanks, artillery ready to support, and aeroplanes flying overhead. But a dozen shots from automatics were all that was necessary, the bloodshed was negligible. The men reached the stores and began their work of destruction, others rounded up the Guarda, disarmed them, and locked them in buildings already arranged for that purpose by José.
The news of the success reached the radio car.
‘It is superb!’ exclaimed Hermandes. ‘It is perfect!’
‘There are five others,’ said José quietly.
News of the second attack, launched with the same devastating suddenness, came as they approached Torvil, where an unsuspecting Guarda Nationale headquarters staff was at ease.
It will be done as we planned,’ said José gently. ‘The Marquis did not betray us, Hermandes. My hope is that he is safe.’
As he spoke, and while the column moved forward on a road cleared by advance guards of small tanks and Catanese Social Patriots, the Marquis was with Silverra in a room at the Hotel da Casino.
Silverra was talking swiftly, imagining that he was carrying all before him. In three days, said Silverra, the Government in Orlanto would be overthrown and he would be the Dictator of Catania. He went into detail of what he would do.
‘Good,’ said the Marquis. Or, ‘Admirable, Excellency,’ or, ‘Such planning, General!’ He watched Silverra narrow-eyed as the man went on discussing his grandiose plans, doomed to failure whether the move against the Guarda succeeded or not, for there would be no consideration for Catania in the plans of the Axis.
‘Superb,’ said the Marquis, into a pause.
‘I am glad that you appreciate the subtlety, señor. I would like—’ Silverra stopped abruptly and frowned as the telephone rang. ‘You will excuse me, señor.’ He stepped to the instrument and raised it. The Marquis saw his harsh, humourless face, without expression until that moment, suddenly change until it held a look of sheer horror. He exclaimed into the mouthpiece, and then began to pour out a torrent of words. Finished, he rattled the receiver hook up and down, then shouted: ‘Send de Barros—send Silva—send Sebastian. At once!’ He banged down the receiver, turned to face the Marquis and declaimed: ‘The accurs
ed Patriots have attacked our positions, two have been destroyed! It is incredible—they have tanks and artillery, they are fully armed with machine-guns, they have everything they need, even air support. Air support!’ roared Silverra. ‘There is not an aeroplane in the possession of the Patriots, I know that! Where have they come from—where?’
‘It is a mistake, perhaps,’ murmured the Marquis.
‘Mistake! It is true, I have just been told. Aeroplanes and tanks, whence did they come?’ He paused for a moment and stared at the Marquis, and his eyes suddenly flamed. ‘Only from the accursed English. Only from the English. You! You have—’
The Marquis took an automatic from his hip pocket, and said softly: ‘Keep quiet, Silverra.’
The General stood gaping at him, but obviously the Marquis did not feel it wise to trust him to keep still. He went forward swiftly. Silverra backed away, dropping his hands to his sides, but the Marquis moved abruptly and struck him on the temple. He struck again as Silverra fell backwards, and then turned towards the door as the General fell.
He entered the passage quickly, and hurried along it. He passed a man he knew as Silva, bowed, and went on. As he reached Drusilla’s door it opened, and de Barros stepped through. His face was pale, and as he saw the Marquis he-snapped: ‘His Excellency has sent for me—there is trouble.’
‘Here is trouble,’ said the Marquis. ‘Go back into the room, de Barros, and keep quiet.’
He brought out his gun again, and the commandant backed slowly into the room.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Into the Light
‘Señorita, this is madness, you cannot betray us!’
‘Can you betray betrayers?’ asked Drusilla. Then to the Marquis: ‘He knows where they are.’
‘Commandant de Barros,’ said the Marquis gently, ‘we are going to find our friends, and you are leading us. Do you understand that?’ He placed his gun in his pocket, but kept his hand on it. ‘Drusilla will lead the way, you will follow, and I shall be behind you. If you are foolish enough to attract attention or call for help—’ His square shoulders shrugged. ‘You have the sense to know what will happen.’