by Chris Hawley
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
FROM THE FIRE INTO THE FURNACE
My first thought on hearing the voice was that Michu had arranged for our rescue in the nick of time. But who was the owner of the voice? Not someone I knew. Inside my blindfold I was confused, relieved at the thought of delivery from the jaws of death and at the same time frightened by the sound of the strange voice. There was no time for more thoughts because a series of thuds and whizzing of bullets filled the air, then the sound of scuffling, muffled cries and heavy breathing burst out around me. I was powerless with my hands tied. I sat, trembling with fear, not knowing what was going to happen the next second. Another muffled shot sounded and immediately there was a cry and something almost crushed my legs beneath its weight. Then I heard more voices giving orders. It was pandemonium. I tried to move my legs but they were jammed underneath what I realised must be the body of a man. Then there was silence and the silence was more nerve-wracking than the noise. The smell of tobacco smoke caught my nostrils.
After what seemed like eternity, the weight was lifted from my legs and then I could feel hands untying the blindfold and then my hands. As soon as my eyes adjusted to the brightness of the day, this was the scene before me. Three men stood on the grass three metres in front of me. One held a gun in his hand, the other was smoking a cigarette, drawing the smoke deeply into his lungs. At his feet lay the inert body of the thin American The man who had untied me was kneeling beside the body that had fallen on my legs. Sonia lay in the same place as I had last seen her but with relief I saw that her blue eyes were open and she was looking around her vaguely. The man holding the gun was middle aged, tall and slim, with large angular features, steely, blue eyes and receding, blond hair. The other man was shorter but also slim, with light hair and a square face in which sat a pair of blue-grey eyes. The third man was small and dark and he wore dark glasses.
The man with the gun spoke to the other two in a language I didn’t understand but I thought could be Russian. Immediately they set about preparing to leave. They sat the bodies of the two Americans in the front seats of their own BMW. Sonia and I were pushed into the back seat of a white Peugeot 605, which was standing some thirty metres away, behind thick bushes. The small man with dark glasses got in beside Sonia. The blond haired man climbed in behind the steering wheel and the engine burst into life. At the same time he was barking orders to the other man, who hurried to the boot of the car and removed something. I could not see what he was doing but after about three minutes he reappeared, leaping over the rough grass. As he slid into the passenger seat the car jerked into motion and began bouncing wildly over the ground.
As we neared the road the car slowed, then with a screech of tyres we hit the tarmac and accelerated away. At that moment there was a muffled explosion and turning my head and looking out of the rear window I saw a plume of flame and smoke rising into the air. The BMW was on fire. Before long nothing would be left to tell the tale but the burnt out shell of a car.
I looked sideways at Sonia. She turned to face me with a vacant look in her eyes. I hoped it was only a case of mild amnesia. I reached for her hand and held it tightly.
Who were these men, our new captors? If the Americans had been serious, these people, whoever they were, took their jobs just as seriously. What could they want with me? If they had the intention of disposing of us, they would have done it there and then and added us to the flames. No, they were interested in more than our silence. They must believe I have something of great value to them. They had not tied us up or covered our eyes like the others had done. I looked at each one in turn. Not one had addressed us since taking us over. How strange these people are, I thought.
There were few cars on the road. I surveyed the landscape around me. The little road wound through sparsely populated, hilly country. On either side lay sloping fields interspersed with patches of woodland. An occasional stone farmhouse nestled in the folds and sheep grazed in the fields. We passed through the odd sleepy village, mostly deserted in the heat of the August afternoon. I read the names but they didn’t ring any bells. I had not the faintest idea where we were.
We travelled in silence. I held onto Sonia’s hand and from time to time I turned to look at her. At least she knew who I was.
After about an hour’s journey, the car turned left into another minor road, which led to more open, hilly country. A little later the road came to the crest of a hill and I saw the plain spread out below. We descended the hill and followed the road, which had now become straight. Another ten minutes passed and we came to what looked like a disused airfield on the right hand side of the road. The car slowed and then turned right, into an overgrown drive until we came up to a set of rusty metal gates, overgrown with climbing plants. A man in denims opened the gate in time for the car to pass through without slowing down. I looked at the man beside Sonia enquiringly but he offered no help to my questioning look. Ahead were a series of old buildings, beside which stood a small but sleek jet plane. The engines were whining as we approached.
Where are we going, I wondered, certain now that our captors were taking us out of the country? Which country could we be going to? East? Yes, there was no doubt in my mind.
As soon as we were aboard the plane it taxied out onto the rough runway. I felt myself being forced back in my seat as the plane accelerated, bouncing over the rough surface. Then the nose lifted into the air as the jet took off, climbing steeply into the blue sky.
The cabin was fitted with comfortable bench seats, arranged into two compartments, each with two sets of seats facing one another. Between the seats were low, bare tables. Sonia and I sat opposite each other and the three men sat on the other side of the plane. They lounged in a relaxed manner and chatted in what I now believed to be Russian. Still no-one spoke to us. They were in no hurry to let us know who they were or what they wanted with us.
The sun slid down the Western sky as the jet headed eastwards, carrying us further and further from home. What was going on there, back in my home town? Ben and Tim would have started to worry when I didn’t turn up for lunch in town and would have gone to the library and then my house in the afternoon to check if I was there. That would have set my mother off and she would have rung Dad to tell him. Mrs. Rogers would have been concerned when ‘the old lady’ didn’t report for work and more worried when Ben and Tim came enquiring if we had been there. By now, Dad would already have reported our disappearance to the police. How long would it be before the blazing BMW and the wrecked car were discovered in the bushes? Not long, judging by the size of the pall of smoke rising into the sky. A full-scale search was probably on country-wide. With those thoughts, I slipped into an uneasy sleep, exhausted by the traumatic events of the day.