chapter twenty-one
HE SAW the ruins long before he could approach closely. A few clouds silvered by the moon made strange shadows slide upon the torn landscape. Once he passed an ancient olive grove planted on a terrace; the stone walls were tumbled, the trees grown wild and twisted by the wind. It was a wilderness. There was a stone hut at one end of the abandoned grove, but the door had rotted away and inside there was only the smell of some small wild animal that had made its lair there. He pushed on.
He wanted to run, to cover the distance instantly. He had lost precious time since Deirdre was taken from the Bel-laria place. Anything might have happened to her by now. Talbott was something wild, implacable in his desire to cause harm and death.
The path narrowed as it approached the upper reaches of the dead volcano. A low crenellated wall appeared against the shredded clouds. He walked slower, silently. He carried the rifle, and his gun was in his pocket. There was no sign of life. Suppose Apollio had been wrong? Why would Talbott come here, even if he knew of this place? He could only assume that Jack would be hunting Cesare, and Apollio was sure that Cesare would be here. It was a long chance, but he could not take the time to scour the whole island. That could be done later, if no one was here.
He paused and looked at the ruins ahead. He wished he could have scouted the place in daylight. The moving shadows were tricky. He forged ahead, a tall dark shadow among the others. He was the hunter, but this was not like hunting, as a boy, in the Louisiana bayous. There, the life of foliage and animals had been overpowering; here, all was barren, crusted over with molten rock, pocked by ugly bubbling springs. The path skirted one of the springs now, and the sulphur smell and steam filled the air. When he passed it, he found himself on a small, rocky clearing, quite close to the ruined castle.
There was little left of the old structure. Too many generations of fishermen had come here with cart and mule to haul away the cut stone for their village huts. One main wall and half a tower, round and turreted, still stood in recognizable shape. The rest was a tumble of broken stone, of rubble and treacherous holes and yawning, rubbish-filled dungeon rooms. Nothing moved. There was no sound against the distant bubbling of hot springs behind him.
Two ruined walls flanked a natural ramp that crossed the last crevasse to the crumbled entrance, and Durell hesitated, studying the alley-like way he had to cross to gain the crest. It was a perfect trap—and had been designed that way a thousand years ago, to funnel enemies into a sluice-like passage.
He studied the shadows. He considered the rocks.
Nothing.
In this craggy, grotesque place, anyone could plan a deadly game of hide-and-seek, he thought. Talbott had not come here. He had not brought Deirdre here. He had wasted precious time in the long climb up here.
He could never forgive himself if anything happened to Deirdre. You were supposed to be callous in his business, to abandon friends if necessary; but Deirdre was not in the business, he had only asked her for a bit of help. It had been enough to expose her to destruction. How long had he warned himself against just this sort of chance? How often had he hurt her, by refusing to share what he could with her? He had shared now—but only the danger, only the blood.
He heard her scream a split-second before the shot.
The ruined walls gave back the echoes of her voice from every direction. His start and reflex leap to the right saved him. The bullet cracked past him, shattering on the rock at his back. He threw himself to the ground, holding the rifle, then sprang for the shelter of the walled passage. A second shot rang out. The bullet chipped stone a few inches from his head. He raised his head and tried to see where the sniper was hidden. But there was nothing to see. Only the cool moon, the jagged ruins of ancient Crusader splendor, crumbling into dust.
“Sam!”
It was Deirdre’s voice, and it ended as if a big hand had been clapped across her mouth. To stay here was like standing at the end of a shooting gallery, waiting to be knocked down. He could retreat to the wasteland below; or he could try a run forward, hoping to reach shelter in the gateway ahead.
He got up and ran forward.
One more shot cracked past him, and he dodged from one shadow to another. His breath whistled in his throat. He reached the gateway and hurled himself flat against the stones. They felt cold and dry. He raised his head to the clouded sky.
“Jack!”
His voice echoed and rang curiously. He waited, then looked back the way he had come. He thought he saw movement on the mountainside below, where the sulphur springs bubbled and steamed. But he could not be sure. There was no time to wonder about it. He eased around the gateway into a flat moonlit area.
Long ago, from this vantage point, all the island and sea approaches could be watched and guarded. Now there was only the dust of dead history waiting for another bloodletting.
“Deirdre?” he called softly.
There came a brief scrape of a shoe, a muttered curse. The sound came from the left. Water trickled somewhere, and a wisp of vapor moved across the crenellated wall. At some time long ago, a new mineral spring, born in the bowels of the old volcano, had burst through the rocks to fill several of the subterranean chambers. He smelled the pungency of sulphur.
There was another footstep. He moved that way, under a Gothic arch and around some shattered blocks, then paused in a pool of shadow. A long wall led ahead, with further arches, vine-grown and vague, making an architectural pattern before him. To one side there were several doorways leading into inner rooms. The footsteps had come from one of them. He turned his head, considering the crumbling roof, the edge of the wall. Steam drifted ahead, and the spring inside made sudden erupting noises.
“Durell!”
Talbott’s voice rang out like a brazen alarm.
He waited. He did not know if the other man could see him. Something squeezed his stomach, and he knew it was panic—not for himself, but for Deirdre.
“I’ve got a gun at her head, Durell! Stay right there!” “All right,” he called softly.
“You came to make a deal?” Talbott called.
“Maybe.”
“You’ve got something to deal with?”
“I’ve got the scrolls,” Durell said.
“With you?”
“No. But I know where they are now.”
“What about Cesare?”
“I don’t know where he is.”
It was like talking to the wind. He could not locate the direction of Talbott’s voice. There was a kind of taut frenzy in it, a controlled passion, that made him fear for Deirdre. She was silent now. Had he knocked her out, or worse? Except for that first outcry, she had been silent.
“Deirdre, can you hear me?” he called.
Talbott’s laughter clamored with echoes. “She can hear. I got a hand over her mouth and a gun at her head.”
“Let her speak to me.”
“No. Where are the scrolls?”
“Let the girl go first.”
“I haven’t time for bargains. Tell me where the scrolls are. Does Cesare still have them?”
“No.”
“Then who does?”
“Let me see the girl,” Durell said. “I want to be sure she’s all right.”
“Drop your rifle first.”
He let Apollio’s rifle fall noisily to the stone floor He was sure now that Talbott’s voice came from one of the ruined doorways to the right. Between those doors and the low wall to his left was a long paved area about a hundred feet in length. Patterned shadows of moonlight made geometrical shapes that diminished in size with distance. Was it the first door? Nothing moved there that he could see—no dim pallor of peering face, no glint of white eyes. Then the second. That had to be it. The third was too far away. Yes, the second doorway. Talbott waited and watched him from there.
He had the feeling as he let the rifle go that Talbott might shoot him down then and there. He still had the .38 in his coat pocket. He could draw it fast enough,
but unless he had some warning, he was offering himself in sacrifice, for no gain.
“Deirdre?” he called again.
“Sam, go back!” she suddenly cried.
He was not sure for a moment what was happening in that dark doorway. He thought he heard a footstep behind him— but then an eruption of steam suddenly came from the door he watched, with a sudden bubbling of the volcanic spring inside. Apparently the spring erupted with some regularity, being quiet in between. It took Talbott by surprise. There came a cry, then a coughing, choking sound.
Durell moved instantly, his shoes digging at the stone, lunging to cover the distance all at once. A dark shape staggered out of the doorway in the boiling cloud of noisy vapor. Talbott had Deirdre by her arm, dragging her cruelly to escape the inferno inside. Deirdre cried out and Talbott cursed between his gasps. Then Durell smashed into him, his shoulder low, slamming into the man’s stomach as his free arm grabbed for the gun in Talbott’s fist.
For a moment everything was confusion. The cloud of steam was like a wet gag suddenly thrust down Durell’s throat. Talbott wrenched away, cursing. The crash of his gun seemed oddly muted. The sulphur spring chuckled viciously from the black hole in the ruins.
Talbott’s shot went wide. Durell felt the gun kick in the hand that held Talbott’s wrist. The man’s arm was hard, his strength the strength of madness. Coughing, they both willingly fell from the steamy doorway and collapsed in a tangle to the stones outside, rolling over and over. There was only a low parapet on the opposite side of the paved court. Talbott came down hard on Durell and Durell squirmed back, still holding the man’s gun hand. All at once he felt nothing under his shoulders and head. He twisted, looked sidewise, saw that Talbott had maneuvered him through a broken area of the parapet. Under his head and shoulders was only dim, moonlit air, the edge of a cliff that fell away for hundreds of feet to a ravine below.
“You’re finished, chum,” Talbott gasped. A huge vein pulsed in his temple. “Done, now. You outsmarted yourself.”
Durell tried to heave himself free but Talbott grabbed the edge of the parapet, using it as leverage to force Durell over the wall. Durell got one leg free and brought his heel savagely into Talbott’s back, slammed the man’s gun against the stone. A bone cracked in Talbott’s hand with a small popping sound. The big man only grinned.
“Where’re the scrolls, hey? Who’d you give ’em to? Was it Frannie? Does she have them?”
It was as if he never felt the pain of his broken hand. But the gun was loosened. Durell concentrated on that. Talbott heaved, suddenly slammed his forearm across Durell’s throat. If he could get leverage, Durell thought, he could lift Talbott overhead and send him flying out into the space yawning under him. But Talbott might drag him along. The man was strong, too strong to risk it. He thought he heard a thin warning cry from Deirdre. He could not breathe with the pressure of Talbott’s heavy arm across his throat. Darkness whirled across the sky, blotted out the moon. He smashed Talbott’s hand on the rock again. The man grunted. Moisture spattered across Durell’s face. And suddenly the gun was free.
Talbott exploded backward as if he had been shot. But Durell hadn’t pulled the trigger. The man’s knees were bent and he started to rise. Durell lifted, saw Talbott’s foot lash out in an effort to kick him over the cliff. He dodged, rolled aside, came up with the gun free in his hand.
Talbott laughed and backed away.
“You won’t shoot,” he whispered.
Durell looked for Deirdre. She stood near the doorway where Talbott had hidden her. The spring inside had stopped its bubbling and vaporing. He saw that she was all right, unharmed except for her torn and smudged clothing. He thought he had never seen a more wonderful sight.
“Dee?”
“I’m fine, Sam.”
The fire and pain slowly left his throat. Talbott backed away, his voice thin and bounding from the wall behind him.
“You can’t blame a guy for trying. And there’s no need for anything drastic. We can make a deal. . . .”
“No deal,” Durell said.
“I’ve got the dope on the Fremont people. If I don’t show up in Milan tomorrow, Pacek gets it. You’ve only had two days to dismantle the group and get them back to the West. It’s not enough time, and you know it. Pacek will nail them all. He needs that kind of a feather in his cap just now. A lot of your friends would get knocked off, pal.”
“Have you talked to Pacek yet?”
Talbott’s voice thickened. “Look, I tried for something, I took a shot at the big chance. It meant a lot of dough, no more orders from punks and bastards who didn’t have half of what I’ve got. I took it. You blame me for that?”
“I blame you for a lot of things. Ellen Armbridge for one,” Durell said quietly.
“Ellen?”
“The way you killed her.” Durell looked at Deirdre. “Get over here, Dee.”
Talbott grinned. “So you rub me out, anyway?”
“Yes.”
“Just like this?”
“Yes.”
Talbott started to laugh and say something more, then paused and stood there with his mouth open. He looked at Durell and knew that ordinary morality did not apply to Durell or to Durell’s business. Deirdre made a soft sound and moved until she stood beside Durell. He did not look at her again. He was thinking of his worry lest she die as Ellen had died.
He had what he wanted now. He had the scrolls; they were waiting at Apollio’s for him; he had Deirdre safely at his side. He had Talbott at the end of his gun.
He thought of the men in the Fremont group behind the Iron Curtain. Was Talbott bluffing? If Talbott got the treasonous information to the wrong people, those men would die.
It would be too costly to pull the trigger.
He started to lower the gun.
And another voice spoke from behind him.
“You are finally being sensible, Mr. Durell.”
He turned and saw Anton Pacek behind him.
chapter twenty-two
THE MAN from the KGU had moved as quietly as a cat. In the moonlight that now shone and now faded, his solid figure looked as chunky and heavy as before. His wide frog’s mouth was smiling; his eyes were not. In his fist was a gun, leveled at Durell.
“Yes, we will all be reasonable now,” Pacek said.
Durell did not lower the gun he’d taken from Talbott. He had an impulse to turn fast and fire; but he knew Pacek’s reputation for speed and ruthlessness. Whatever happened, Pacek could squeeze off one shot—and he would aim at Deirdre. He felt the girl move closer to him and wished she wouldn’t, because it gave him a bit less freedom of movement. Yet he was glad she was near enough for him to touch her.
Jack Talbott was speaking, moving toward Pacek, his voice quick with relief, his big body suddenly loose and easy.
. . make a deal with you. Been trying to make a connection, Major Pacek. I’ve got something for you, something you’d like very much to have.”
Pacek’s face was stony. “I know all about it.”
“Then we make a deal?”
“You have the names of the American agents who make up the so-called Fremont group?”
“Yes, of course, I got hold of it in Geneva.”
“You killed the Armbridge woman for it?”
“Well, I had to, but—”
“Where are these names?”
Talbott laughed. “Look, I was going to make you pay through the nose for them, pal, but things haven’t worked out exactly like I wanted, understand? First off, I want those scrolls —and that’s good for you, too, because if Prince Tuvanaphan doesn’t get them by tomorrow night, he closes the tin deal with you and that’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Pacek said shortly.
“So I want those scrolls.”
“I do not have them.”
“I can find ’em. I just don’t want you to interfere when I take them, right? You don’t need them. But they’ll set me up for life when I make a
connection to sell them. Also, you help me get off this damned rock and back to the mainland, right? I’m broke, understand. I’ll need some money to carry me over until I sell the scrolls.”
“Shut up,” Pacek said.
Talbott’s head snapped up. “What?”
“You talk too much. It is I who have the gun.” Pacek turned his head slightly. “Mr. Durell, you are wise not to attempt to use yours while this man babbles. Please drop your weapon now.”
Durell released the gun he had taken from Talbott. It clattered noisily on the stones, and Talbott started to pick it up, then looked at Pacek and let it lie there. Durell waited for the next moment, not knowing if Pacek supposed the gun was his own. He still had his .38 in his pocket. He spoke quickly, to keep the KGU agent off balance, if possible.
“You won’t make it, Pacek. Not off this island. You can’t help Talbott or yourself. Apollio is onto the whole thing. He runs this place, and he’ll clamp down on every boat on Isola Filibano. You’re trapped here.”
Pacek smiled. “I met Apollio on the way up here. I saw his wound. He is in no condition to practice his antiquated, feudalistic authority.” Pacek grinned broadly. “But I left him alive, if his life concerns you.”
“Every man’s life concerns me.”
“Ah, yes, the noble sentiments of Western humanism. Fortunately, I am not hampered by such bourgeois scruples. We are enemies. I offered you a chance to avoid all this in Geneva; I suggested you go to Paris. You chose not to. So you must accept the consequences, you and your young lady.”
“Leave her out of this,” Durell said. “She knows nothing about it. It’s not her business.”
“But it is, because you are concerned about her. So I use your concern to my advantage.” Pacek paused. The wind on the mountaintop made moaning noises in the crannies of the ancient fortress. The moon was momentarily hidden by ragged clouds blowing in from the sea. Pacek turned his head toward Talbott, dimly agitated in the gloom. “I accept your conditions, Talbott. You may keep the Dwan Scrolls. I believe you will find them in Apollio’s palazzo. I am interested in them only as they make Prince Tuvanaphan resent all Americans. I impose one condition, however. We all remain here until sundown tomorrow, when the Prince’s ultimatum expires. When the scrolls are not returned, he will sign the tin contract with my own mission in Geneva. And I am sure he will permit us then to send our technicians into his country. It is the first step toward eventual victory.”
Assignment - Sorrento Siren Page 18