by Colin Forbes
Now he heaved himself over the top and the pass was thirty feet below. He descended rapidly, reached the entrance to the pass, stopped, head cocked to one side. The rope was again looped over one shoulder, the rifle over the other. Someone was coming. He heard the stealthy movement of feet padding among the bed of pebbles. A thick needle-shaped column of rock rose up near the track. He slipped behind it.
Christina was in a cold fury. Her jaw was sore, but that was nothing. When she regained consciousness she had found the note tucked inside the top of her slacks. Its message was clear- to the point. Christina, this expedition is too dangerous for me to take you any further. Sorry for the tap on the chin. Go straight back to Nick. I'll join you there. Later. Bob.
The stupid swine. She could have helped him find the mine, showed him where to veer off the track so he reached it more quickly. She knew the country. He didn't. And her sharp eyes could have spotted any shepherd guards lurking…
The arm came round the back of her neck, lifted her off her feet. She used her elbows to thud into the midriff of her attacker, her feet to kick back at his shins. She wriggled like a snake and the pressure on her throat increased. The voice whispered in her ear.
'Don't want to strangle you. Relax. Go limp. I'll let you go. Be quiet. There may be others about. Ready?'
Marler's voice. She stopped struggling. He released her. She turned round. His expression was bleak. She swung her right hand with the speed of a striking snake. The flat of her hand slapped hard into the side of his face. His head didn't move.
'Make you feel better? Jezebel…'
'Why call me that, you bastard?'
'Because you've just led Newman into another trap -the way you did with Masterson…'
'You bloody idiot!' She waved Newman's note at him. 'Better read that. He socked me one, left me behind because he was worried about me
…'
'Worried you'd betray him,..'
'Read the bloody note.'
He shrugged, took the note, read it, then looked at her. 'OK. Tell me where he's gone.'
To the silver mine. The crazy idiot. He's a suicide case.'
'Hardly. At least I hope not. Care to tell me exactly where this mine is?'
'You can see it from the end of the pass. I'll show you…'
Her long legs covered the ground in minutes. Marler had collected the rifle and rope he had left behind the needle of rock and hurried to catch up with her. At the end of the pass again she pointed, indicating the position of the silver mine. Marler frowned, then turned to her. She waited, hands on her hips, her expression contemptuous, eyes flashing. He lifted a hand and his slim fingers closed round her chin. She gritted her teeth, determined not to wince. The gentle way he handled her was a surprise. He turned her chin to examine it by the light of the moon.
'Sorry. I was checking to see how hard he'd hit you. Scarcely a bruise. Just enough to put you out. How long ago do you think he left you?'
She looked at her watch. 'I checked it. just before we got here. I must have been out cold ten minutes. No more than fifteen.'
'Then I have to hurry. Anything you can tell me to help?'
She repeated what she had told Newman. She pointed out where the track ran up to the mine. But this time she tried to show where Marler could veer off three-quarters of the way up, cutting across direct to a point just below the mine.
'Got it,' Marler said. 'Do me a favour. Go back to Nick. I think I can make it faster on my own. And I don't want to have to worry about you,'
'I'm popular with the men tonight, aren't I? Marler, why are you waiting? Get there fast…'
Newman had caught the faintest hint of movement high up and out of the corner of his eye. Imagination? He remembered the man he'd only known as Sarge. The time when he'd trained with the SAS – the Special Air Service – Britain's elite strike force, so he could write a series of articles on them. Sarge had put him through the full course. And he'd survived it. Just.
If you even suspect you've seen something, heard something, smelt something – assume the worst. You've been seen. Sarge, the toughest man Newman had ever known, the sergeant who'd put him through his paces, had said something else. Get inside the enemy's mind. Sit in his chair. What would you do if you were him? Out-think the bastard. ..
Newman moved into the shadows out of the moonlight. He paused, took out the compact pair of night glasses he'd bought in Athens. His mouth was parched with thirst, with fear. His boots, his clothes, were coated with limestone dust from his journey up the track. Slinging the glasses from his neck, he took the opportunity to relieve himself against a rock. Then he took a swig from the small bottle of mineral water in his pocket. Now…
He leant against the side of the rock and raised the glasses, aiming them where he thought he'd seen something move at the top of the ridge to the right of the track. He moved the glasses slowly, scanning the whole ridge. He stopped. Silhouetted against the night sky was the outline of a man, a man peering over a rock parapet. Got you. He held the glasses very still. No doubt about it. One of the shepherd guards. And he held the high ground. Time to rethink.
Assume the worst. He'd been spotted. Coming up the track. So what would the enemy do? Wait for him where the track emerged at the top. The solution? Get off the track. Move up to the left. However rough the going. Head diagonally straight for the mine. He put the glasses back into his pocket. Began climbing higher, so long as he kept in the shadow. He nearly missed the defile spiralling up to his left.
It looked pretty steep, but rock projections formed a kind of ladder. He entered the defile, felt safe from observation. It was exactly like climbing a ladder. He placed his boots on each projection, hauled himself higher and higher. He began to feel the strain on his calf muscles. He was sweating litres with the effort. Keep going. He must be close to the top.
His head and shoulders projected above the defile without warning. He remained perfectly still. Listening. Sniffing. For the smell of a mule. The shepherd might well be patrolling on an animal. He turned his head very slowly. He had emerged just below the crest of the ridge. Keep below it. That was the mistake the shepherd had made. He could see the spectral outline of the mine. No more than a hundred yards to his left.
No sign or sound of anyone else. He rubbed the calves of both legs. No time to get cramp. He hefted the Smith amp; Wesson out of the holster, moved towards the mine in a crouch, placing his feet carefully. The ground was powdered dust. Easy to slip on. The mine came closer.
'The bastard has tricked us.'
Dimitrios stood at the top of a huge crag which gave him a view of the whole length of the ridge. Below him Constantine waited, gripping his shotgun. Dimitrios clambered down and joined his brother.
'What do you mean?' Constantine asked.
'I saw him moving. He's nearly reached the mine. We'll have to hurry. He left the track, came up a different way.'
'Then let's get moving. If we lose him Petros will go mad.'
Tetrcs is mad. Maybe we don't tell him what happened. That shaft goes down forever. Who is to know? So long as you keep your big mouth shut. I lead, you follow. We've got him cornered.'
Newman approached the weird structure cautiously. There could be another guard hidden and waiting. Resisting the temptation to peer inside the shaft, he crawled slowly round, pausing at each of the four corners. The structure reminded him of a ruined Greek temple constructed of rusting iron. He peered round the final corner. Nothing.
He had completed one circuit round the mine. He chose the side furthest away from the head of the track, from where he had seen the immobile silhouette on the ridge. Straightening up, he looked into the mine.
No cage. Christina had said there was a cage at the top. But she had never been up here. Someone must have told her about a cage, had lied. He was looking down into an immense bucket made of iron. It was suspended by a chain windlass coiled at the top. He switched on his pencil torch, his hand well below the surface of the mine. At its base he saw remnants of ore.
He thought his light reflected off veins of silver, but it could have been his imagination.
Newman was baffled. Why should Petros make such a fuss about no one going near the mine? Between the huge bucket – large enough to hide a crouching man – and the side of the shaft was a wide gap. He shone the torch down the shaft. The light penetrated only a short distance into bottomless blackness. A musty aroma drifted up to his nostrils. He swivelled the light and saw a huge chain dangling beneath the bucket. And something else he couldn't identify…
He heard the shuffle of feet hurrying across rock-strewn ground. He peered through the aperture and saw two men coming, still several hundred yards away. From the direction of the track. They dropped out of view, presumably into a dip in the ground. But he had seen the long barrels perched over their shoulders. Men with rifles. He glanced round quickly.
No cover. Anywhere. The ridge behind him was open, as exposed as the slope which fell away from it. And they could out-range him with those rifles. A handgun was useless except for closer quarters. He went very cold, thinking. He leaned over into the mine, took hold of the rim of the bucket, tried to move it. The bucket was so heavy he couldn't shift it a centimetre He flashed his light on to the windlass chain holding it. The links in the chain were enormous. He recalled it had been built to hold God knew what tonnage of ore.
He slipped on the pair of gloves he had used when scaling the defile. Without them his hands would have been bloodied raw – clutching at razor-edged rocks to heave himself upwards. He gave one more brief glance to where he'd seen the two men approaching. Any moment now and they would climb up out of the dip into view. He lowered himself into the shaft, hanging on to the rim of the bucket. It remained immovable as the Rock of Gibraltar. Now for the tricky part.
Engulfed in the darkness of the shaft, he held on to the rim with his left hand, felt down with his right for the dangling chain attached to the base of the bucket. He was just able to. clutch it. Every muscle in his body strained as he jerked the chain with all his strength, testing it. It held. He took a deep breath, let go of the rim and fell. He whipped his right hand round the huge chain a second before the full weight of his body pulled at him. Now he had two hands gripping the length of chain which continued at least seven feet below him. He could tell that because he'd used both feet to get a hold on the chain lower down. His right foot rested on one of the enormous links. His left foot slipped, dangled in space. He forced it upwards, felt for a foothold, found it opposite the other foot and hung there suspended. The bucket had still not moved. But something light but unyielding had brushed his face. He couldn't identify it. He took another chance.
Holding on with his right hand, he felt for his pencil torch with his left. Sweating like a bull, he switched it on. He estimated the two men would not yet have arrived in the vicinity of the mine. What he saw by the light so frightened him he nearly lost his grip.
Suspended by a separate chain from beneath the bucket was a man-sized skeleton. The skull was inches from Newman's cheek. A gibbering skull with one eye intact.
Inside the gloves his hands were suddenly greasy with sweat. He gripped the chain more tightly, scared stiff his hands would slip out of them, plunging him down the shaft. The eye twitched and Newman nearly had a bowel movement. Then he saw it was an insect perched in the hollow eye socket, something like a praying mantis. The light had disturbed it. The insect twitched again, then flew upwards. Newman switched off the torch, rammed it in his pocket, gripped the chain with his free hand. Just in time. The strain on his right hand was becoming unendurable.
In the brief seconds while the light had been on he noticed the skeleton was wired together, which explained how it could hang there. Jesus! What a companion to hang suspended next to. Newman concentrated on securing his grip with his hands, his feet. Then he heard movement at the top of the mine.
Two voices. Talking excitedly. Leaning over to peer down into the shaft. Now they were moving round as though to get a better view. Still chattering.
Then the beam of a powerful flashlight shone down into the darkness. The Sight swung slowly, probing the shadows. The angle of the light changed, penetrated deeper. Newman looked down and cursed inwardly. The flashlight was shining on the lower part of his dangling legs, illuminating them from the knees downwards. More chatter. Then silence. Followed by a metallic click. Newman recognized the sound. The release of a safety catch. The flashlight beam remained very steady now, shining on his legs. He realized his teeth were clenched tightly. The bastards were going to shoot him in the legs. Not one damned thing he could do. Except wait for the impact, the slipping of his hands from the chain, the plunge down the shaft until his body smashed against the base, however far that might be…
Marler, smaller than either man, held the rifle at a horizontal angle, level with his nose. He swung the butt to his left. It smashed into the back of Dimitrios' skull. He was collapsing when Constantine began to turn round. Marler reversed the swing and the barrel thudded with all his strength against Constantine's forehead. The Greek sagged to the ground, dropping his shotgun. Dimitrios' flashlight had vanished down the mine.
Marler leaned over, switched on his own flashlight. He called down. 'Anyone at home?'
'Me, for God's sake. Hanging on to a chain under the bucket.'
'Hang about. I need a minute. You can last that out?'
'What the hell can you do?'
'Haul you up.' As he had started talking Marler had picked up the looped rope he had laid quietly on the ground before creeping up behind the two Greeks. He was creating a large loop with a slipknot. He tested the knot, then picked his flashlight off the parapet, shone it down.
'I'm lowering a rope with a big loop. Plus a slipknot. I can see your lower legs. Can you slide them inside the loop? I'll haul it up slowly. You have to get it round your chest, under your armpits. Think you can manage that simple exercise?'
'Give it a go. Soon as you're ready. I have company…'
Marler ignored the cryptic remark, held the torch in his right hand, lowered the loop with his left. When it was level with Newman's dangling feet he had to swing it away from the wall of the shaft. Newman saw what he was doing in the beam of the flashlight, waited for what he hoped was the right moment and swung his feet off the chain. Marler jerked the loop up and it ringed Newman's legs. He warned that the light would go out and took the rope in both hands. He hauled it up slowly and Newman called out that it was sliding up over his body.
'Tell me when it's under your arms, there's a good chap…'
'Now…'
'Tricky bit coming,' Marler called out. 'I need both hands to haul you up. When you let go you'll swing against the side of the shaft. Try and cushion yourself. Piece of cake. If you're lucky.'
'Thanks for the vote of confidence…'
Marler had his feet and knees braced against the side of the mine. He had knotted the rope in a few places to ward off as much rope burn on his hands as possible. And Newman weighed a few more pounds than he did. He called down that he was OK and waited for the considerable increase in weight. Newman called back that he was letting The rope had slid up under his armpits, the loop had tightened. He let go of the chain and swung outwards, his right hand palm up. It slammed into the wall. His hand stung horribly from the impact. For a moment he hadn't the strength to call up.
'OK to haul you in? Tell me. for Pete's sake,' Marler rasped.
The weight was greater than he'd expected. His knees were pulverized with the pressure against the side of the mine. Newman said something he couldn't catch. Can't mess around any longer, Marler told himself and began to haul up the excruciating weight.
Newman came up facing the curve of the wall, hands pressed into it to steady his ascent. His head appeared over the top, Marler arched his body backwards, gave one last heave. Newman's hands scrabbled at the edge of the mine, then he came over the top like a cork out of a bottle and flopped on the ground beside the two unconscious Greeks,
'This
one with the shotgun was going to pepper you,' Marler remarked as he stooped over the unconscious Greek. 'I heard the charming conversation when I came up behind them. Relieved to be back in the land of the living?'
'You could say that. Who are these two jokers?' Newman eased his back up, rested it against the side of the mine, took off his gloves and flexed his aching fingers. 'Did you do a real job on them – or will they come round? if so, maybe I'd better put a bullet in their skulls.'
'Tweed said you'd become a hard man after that trip behind the lines in East Germany.' As he spoke he was searching the Greeks. He pulled out a bottle, uncapped it, sniffed, used his handkerchief to wipe the top and handed it to Newman.
'You need a pick-me-up. Drink, Ouzo.'
'Thanks.' Newman upended the bottle, swallowed, choked a little. He took another swig when he'd recovered. His whole body was aching. Legs, arms, hands, shoulders. 'Who are the bastards?' he asked again.
Marler was scanning a photo he'd taken from a grubby envelope. 'This one, as I thought, is Dimitrios. Taken with a girlfriend. Rather crudely erotic. I was pretty sure I recognized him from our little escapade on Siros. The other is Constantine. Meet the Gavalas brothers.'
'Let's hope I don't – on the streets of Athens. For their sake.'
'Feeling better? You have a hike. Back down the track to where Nick is waiting with the cars.'
Newman forced himself to stand, supporting himself with a hand on the wall of the mine. He drank a little more ouzo. Marler took the bottle off him.
'That's enough. We don't want you drunk. I'll be ready to go in a minute.'
Marler was emptying the rifle. He threw the cartridges down the slope, then held the rifle poised over the well. 'Might interest you to listen to this…' He let go and the rifle plunged down past the bucket into the black hole. Newman waited and his hand tightened on the wall. Seconds passed before they both heard the faintest of thuds. Marler locked at him.
'You could have sprained an ankle if you'd gone down there.'
'Ended up as a jelly. Safe to leave these two thugs?'