Exocet (1983)

by Jack Higgins

  He took the grenade from his pocket and pulled the pin with his teeth. For once, he allowed anger to betray his usual icy calm and rigorous training.

  'Stavrou, you bastard!' he called. 'Here's a present from Harvey Jackson,' and he tossed the grenade into the ravine.

  Stavrou, alerted by that cry, every instinct bred of years of hard living coming to his aid, was already turning, diving headlong down the hillside, rolling out of sight into the mist and rain. Not so his companions. There was a shattering explosion followed by screams, and Villiers moved to the edge, his Armalite ready. The ravine was like a butcher's shop, Jarrot and his three companions all badly hit. There was horror on the faces of the young French soldiers as they moved to join Villiers. He raised the Armalite to his shoulder and fired at one of the men who was trying to crawl away.

  Leclerc caught him by the shoulder and swung him round. 'For God's sake, haven't you had enough?'

  There was a single shot, a bullet caught him in the side of the head, splintering bone as it emerged above his right ear. He fell back over the edge.

  One of the sergeants loosed off a burst from his machine pistol at Jarrot who had fired the shot from the hip, bracing himself on one knee. The bullets spun him around and shredded the back of his camouflage jacket so that it burst into flame.

  There was only silence then as they stood beside Villiers, staring at the carnage and at Leclerc's body down there also.

  'Is that it, sir?' one of the younger sergeants asked.

  Villiers shook his head. 'There are still others down there at the base and the man we really want, Felix Donner. I'm sorry about your captain. He was a good man, but you don't survive in war by being kind, decent and honourable, not these days. I hope you've learned your lesson. Use it well when we get down there.' He slammed another clip into his Armalite. 'All right, follow me, do exactly as I say and you might just live forever.'

  * * *

  Donner, back in Espinet's office, heard the grenade explosion and then the rattle of small arm fire that followed it. He moved to the window, glass in hand and saw Stavrou running down the slope on the other side of the huts.

  Montera said, 'Could something else have gone wrong, do you think?'

  Donner turned round, still smiling, but the eyes were cold and very dark. He said, 'You really do presume on my good nature, old sport, don't you?' He took a quick step forward and punched Montera in the face, catching him high on the right cheek, sending him flying backwards out of the chair.

  He opened the door and stepped outside as Stavrou ran across the street towards the entrance to the tunnel to the missile pens. Stavrou saw him at once and veered towards him.

  'How bad?' Donner demanded.

  'Villiers caught us in a ravine up there. Had at least half a dozen men with him.'

  'Jarrot and the others?'

  'Grenade. I only got out myself by the skin of my teeth. What do we do now?'

  Donner appeared to consider the matter, although he had already made his decision, at least as regards his own future. A shambles, no other word for it and one thing was for certain. The presence of Villiers and his men meant that much stronger forces wouldn't be far behind. Last stands were for fools and the Chieftain on the beach at the foot of those cliffs was a much more attractive proposition.

  He said to Stavrou, 'Get up to the radio room, Yanni, and contact the captain of the trawler. Don't whatever you do, tell him what the situation is or the bastard will simply turn tail and get the hell out of it. Just tell him my orders are to come ahead at his best possible speed. Once that's sorted out, get the others. I'll meet you down at the harbour.'

  'And the Exocets?' Stavrou demanded.

  'Yesterday's news. If we get out of this one in one piece we've done well. Off you go!'

  Stavrou went out. Montera said, 'You can say I'm a cynic, but I get the impression you've just sold our friend right down the river.'

  'He shouldn't have joined.' Donner reached for the bottle of Krug. 'Might as well finish this.'

  'There's nowhere to go,' Montera said softly. 'It's over, or hasn't that sunk in yet?'

  'There's always somewhere to go, sport, especially when you have a plane on the beach and the pride of the Argentine air force to fly it for you.'

  He emptied his glass in one quick swallow and hurled it into the corner to smash against the wall.

  * * *

  Villiers ordered his men to stay down and moved to the edge of the escarpment, in time to see Stavrou cross to the radio tower, open the door and disappear inside. The entire base was laid before them like a map.

  Villiers pointed to the tunnel entrance to the missile pens. 'Presumably you were briefed before this posting,' he said to Sergeant Albray. 'Would that be where the Exocets are?'

  'That's right,' Albray said. 'The radio room is at the top of the tower.'

  There was another long, low concrete building to the right where two of Donner's men appeared to be standing guard.

  'And that?' Villiers demanded.

  'As I remember from the plans, that's the fuel store.'

  Villiers nodded. 'They've probably got most of the personnel on the base imprisoned in there.'

  'No sign of the trawler,' Albray remarked, looking down towards the harbour.

  'Probably on her way in right now. Even if Donner thinks things have gone badly wrong, he won't want to be left stranded. On the other hand, he might decide to go all Russian on us and sacrifice himself for the sake of the dear old motherland. Order that trawler to get the hell out of it, which would be a pity. Nice to think it's going to end up in the bag with everybody else.'

  'So what do we do?' Albray asked.

  'We'll tackle the tower, you and I. Probably there's only the creep who just went in, Stavrou, and a radio operator up there.' He turned to the rest of the soldiers. 'Give Sergeant Albray and me five minutes, then move in and move in hard. Take out those two guards at the fuel store, then block the mouth of that tunnel. Anyone tries to move out, shoot the hell out of them and remember what I said. Don't give the bastards a chance because they won't give you one.'

  * * *

  They skirted the back of one of the concrete huts and paused in its shelter, no more than ten yards from the tower. Villiers pointed to the steel ladder running up the outside of the tower to the balcony.

  He moved forward, and holding the Walther ready in his right hand, started to climb. Albray waited until he was ten or fifteen feet up and then ran forward, opened the door at the base of the tower and went inside.

  As he did so, Yanni Stavrou came round the final bend of the spiral staircase. The gun on his hip was holstered, but his reflexes were excellent. He took in Albray and his uniform in a split second, was already turning and running back out of sight as the sergeant fired his machine pistol. Albray, without the slightest hesitation, went after him.

  * * *

  Villiers was more than half way up the ladder when he heard the shooting from inside the tower. He paused, hanging on with one hand, the Walther in his other. He looked down and again everything moved in on him as that dreadful fear of heights returned.

  The guards outside the fuel store were looking up, started to raise their weapons, and then Leclerc's men emerged from between two concrete huts opposite, firing as they came, cutting them down from behind.

  Above Villiers the radio operator leaned over the rail, a machine pistol in his hand, and Villiers fired one-handed, the reflexes of hard training taking over, all fear leaving him. The man cried out and staggered back out of sight and Villiers started to climb again.

  * * *

  Donner ran to the window, drawing his revolver and looked out as firing erupted in the street.

  Raul Montera laughed softly. 'I think that perhaps this time you've left things a little late, my friend.'

  Donner didn't bother to reply, simply opened the door and peeped out. The three guards at the fuel store lay in the street outside and one of Leclerc's men was unlocking the door.
There was gunfire at the other end of the street and he saw two of his men fleeing towards the harbour.

  He closed the door, pulled Montera to his feet and pushed him into the kitchen at the rear. Totally without fear, he opened the back door. 'Now get moving!' he ordered, and he pushed Montera outside.

  * * *

  Villiers peered cautiously over the edge of the balcony but there was no one there except for the dead radio operator sprawled against the wall, the machine pistol on the floor beside him. Villiers picked up the machine pistol and moved to the door of the radio room which swung in the wind. There was no one there either.

  There was a quick step behind him, he swung round, the machine pistol coming up as Stavrou paused in the doorway, an automatic in one hand. The look on Stavrou's face said everything, rage for a brief moment, then the cold calculation of the professional survivor. He assessed his chances against the machine pistol and made his decision. He laid down his automatic very carefully.

  Villiers raised the machine pistol, finger tightening on the trigger and Stavrou smiled. 'Oh no you won't, Major Villiers. I mean, it wouldn't be British, would it? Playing fields of Eton and all that fair play stuff.'

  Villiers moved in close. 'You mean I'm a gentleman?'

  'Something like that.'

  The bone-handled fisherman's gutting knife, which Stavrou had carried in his right sleeve for years, slipped into the palm of his hand, there was a click as his thumb found the button, the arm swept up, the blade streaking for the soft flesh beneath Villiers' chin.

  And Villiers, anticipating just such a move, praying for it, dropped his machine pistol, blocked the arm with practised skill, grabbed for the wrist with both hands, twisting it cruelly so that Stavrou dropped the knife and cried out in pain. Villiers wrenched the arm round and up, still keeping that terrible hold in position, and this time Stavrou screamed as muscles tore, was still screaming as Villiers ran him headfirst through the door and out across the rail to plunge forty feet to the concrete below.

  It was at that precise moment that Donner and Montera emerged from the back of the officer's mess. Stavrou's body hit the ground at the base of the tower and Donner looked up to see Villiers appear at the rail, Sergeant Albray behind him. The sergeant raised his machine pistol to fire and Donner pulled Montera in front of him as a shield.

  On the balcony Villiers knocked up the sergeant's arm. 'No, leave it to me.' He turned and went down the spiral staircase on the run.

  * * *

  Donner and Montera went up the ravine at the rear of the camp, emerged on the upper slope and started across the plateau towards the edge of the cliff, Donner pushing the Argentinian in front of him.

  'I told you, there's no place to run,' Montera said.

  'Oh, yes there is. You're going to fly us out of here, Colonel.'

  They reached the edge of the cliffs. The Chieftain was clearly visible in spite of the mist, strangely alien in such a place. There was only one thing wrong. The sea rolled in across the sand in great, hungry breakers. Already at least half the area on which the Chieftain had landed was eaten away, the rest broken up by trailing fingers in salt water.

  'You've had it,' Montera said. 'See for yourself.'

  'Get moving!'

  Donner pushed him down into the gully and they went sliding down together in a shower of broken stones and earth. They plunged down the final slope of scree and emerged on to the open beach, aware at once of the strong fresh wind blowing in from the sea.

  Montera had ended up on his back, hampered by his bound hands. As Donner pulled him to his feet a cascade of stones rained down from above. Donner turned, firing blindly into the mist, then grabbed Montera by the collar and ran for the plane, pushing him in front of him.

  As they reached the Chieftain, he rammed Montera against the side and pushed the revolver barrel up under his chin. Then he took a knife from his pocket, sprang the blade and sliced through the silk scarf.

  He stood back. 'Okay, inside and let's get out of here.'

  Montera's face stayed calm, but something in his eyes made Donner turn to find Tony Villiers arriving on the run, travelling fast, the Walther in his right hand. He halted perhaps thirty feet away.

  'All right, Donner, let him go!' he called.

  Donner half-turned towards Montera, sighed. 'Like I said, it's been one of those days.'

  Montera said, 'Don't try it, not with him.'

  'Maybe you've got a point,' Donner said. 'On the other hand, I'm tired of running, sport.'

  He turned, the revolver swinging up in his right hand. Villiers fired three times very fast, one bullet catching Donner in the right shoulder spinning him round, the others shattering his spine, driving him against the plane. He bounced off and fell on his face and a wave swept in over him from the incoming tide, lapping around the wheels of the plane.

  Montera stood looking at him. 'Nothing like a little organisation,' he said softly.

  'What's that?' Villiers asked.

  'Nothing important. Is Gabrielle all right?'

  'Yes fine, waiting back at Maison Blanche. We had a certain amount of luck there. Wanda Jones released us, the rest we made up as we went along.'

  'Who flew the plane?'

  'The French captain, Leclerc.'

  There was a distant buzzing and Montera pointed to where three helicopters moved in under low cloud, line astern.

  'Who's that?'

  'The French unless I'm very much mistaken, arriving just too late. Probably paratroopers. Do you think you could fly this thing out of here?'

  Montera looked about him. 'We haven't got a clear run. It's all broken up by water channels as you can see. Why do you ask?'

  'Because I think it might be a good idea if you got the hell out of here and in the circumstances I'm willing to take my chances with you. There's going to be one hell of a row about this and I'd rather be out of it. I don't owe the French anything. They sold you the Exocets that sank the Sheffield, Coventry and Atlantic Conveyor in the first place.'

  'They also sold them to you, my friend.'

  'True. Which goes to prove something, though I'm not sure what. Come on, are we going or are we not? You can only die once.'

  'Okay,' Montera said. 'You're on.'

  He climbed in behind the controls while Villiers got into the passenger seat beside him and secured the door. The engines coughed into life with a shattering roar, drowning every other sound.

  'What do you think?' Villiers shouted.

  Montera didn't even bother to reply. There was a strange, set smile to his face. He taxied into the wind and gave the plane full throttle. The Chieftain shuddered and seemed to leap forward on a diagonal course to the sea that gave them the longest strip of beach left.

  They went across one water channel and then another and another, spray flying up in clouds on either side, Montera stamping hard on the rudder bar to keep her straight. And then she lifted, one wing dipping slightly, and the breakers were beneath then, the wheels skimming the whitecaps.

  Suddenly, they were moving very fast indeed, the engine note deepening into a full-throated roar. Only then did Montera pull back on the control column.

  * * *

  After a couple of hours waiting at the house, Gabrielle could take it no longer and she and Wanda walked to the airfield. It was still raining hard and they sheltered in the hangar.

  Gabrielle said, 'What are you going to do after this?'

  Wanda shrugged. 'God knows. I was on the street when Felix picked me up. It was like a dream. From the gutter to luxury, just like that. I suppose I'll have to wake up now.' She shook her head. 'He was a right bastard, you know that? And I was so afraid of him.'

  'Then why did you stay?'

  'Because I was more afraid of being back on the street.'

  'And now?'

  Wanda said, 'Oh, I don't know. All of a sudden, it looks as if it could be interesting.'

  'I've been thinking,' Gabrielle said. 'I've got a lot of good friends in the maga
zine business and I've a hunch the camera would like you. Maybe we could put something together.'

  'You mean, Wanda Jones as a sort of Vogue centrefold?' Wanda grinned. 'Now that really would be something.'

  There was the sound of engines in the far distance and the Chieftain came in low from the west, then turned into the wind for landing.

  Wanda said, 'I've just thought of something. What if it isn't them? What if they lost out? It could be Felix.'

  Gabrielle turned, a kind of astonishment on her face. 'You really think a man like Donner could take Tony Villiers?' She laughed out loud. 'My God, Wanda, but you do have a lot to learn,' and she turned and walked towards the plane as it taxied in.

  * * *

  The Chieftain came to a halt, but Montera didn't switch off the engine, simply sat there staring out of the windscreen.

  He said, 'Could you make it fast? I want to get out of here.'

  'You're not staying?'

  'Nothing to stay for.'

  'I'd say there is, standing right outside by the port wing.'

  Montera slid back the side window and looked out at her. Gabrielle was laughing, all the relief in the world in her face. She waved excitedly.

  He turned to Villiers. 'Please Tony.'

  It was the first time he had used his name and there was anguish in his voice. Villiers said, 'Okay, but I'm sticking with you. Where are we going?'

  'Where we started from. Brie-Comte-Robert.'

  'And then?'

  'There's an Air France jumbo leaving for Buenos Aires tonight. I intend to be on it.'

  He started to turn the Chieftain away, increased speed and Gabrielle wasn't smiling now, her mouth opening in a cry that was soundless, drowned by the roaring of the engines and then she was somewhere behind the end of the runway that was rushing towards them.

  * * *

  The concourse at Charles de Gaulle airport was not particularly busy as Tony Villiers waited by the bookstall outside the international departure lounge. Montera was at the Air France desk putting his holdall through. He turned and paused to light a cigarette, a curiously elegant figure in the old black flying jacket and the jeans.