by Jack Higgins
That first slope was gentle enough and he knew with heart-stopping certainty that the dog would have no trouble in scaling it either. They scrambled over great blocks of stone and behind, the dog snarled, springing upwards on that first tilt of rock. Above them, the stone face was smooth for nine or ten feet, no holds anywhere, the entrance to a corrie beyond.
There was no choice and Chavasse linked hands into a stirrup. 'Go on, up you go!'
She had sense enough not to argue, but stepped into his hands and was pushed up in one smooth movement that took her over the edge.
The Doberman came after them, scaling the cataract of stone in a series of fantastic bounds, landing no more than a foot below Chavasse, jaws gaping. He kicked out savagely sending it scrambling down. It landed, surefooted as a cat, on a great block of stone below and bounded up again.
Chavasse turned, his back to the rock, and pulled out the Smith amp; Wesson. The Doberman landed at his side, its paws secured a grip on the ledge and it hung there, its body brushing his leg. It snarled, opened the great jaws to strike and he pushed the Smith amp; Wesson inside and fired twice.
The back of the animal's head simply dissolved as the heavy magnum bullets smashed through bone and flesh and it spun backwards into space, bouncing from the rocks below, falling clear to the plateau.
Stavrou was half way across and he paused with a cry of anger, raised his arm and fired a wild shot that ricocheted amongst the rocks to the left. Chavasse fired in reply, sending him running for cover. He stuffed the Smith amp; Wesson into his pocket and looked up.
Asta peered over the edge, lying on her stomach and extended a hand. He reached up, their fingers locked and he jumped, his right toe finding purchase in a tiny crack. A moment later, he was over the edge and lying beside her.
It was impossible to see the base of the slope, but a rattle of stones told them that Stavrou was climbing. There was no sign of the others.
'We seem to have lost the Munros,' Asta said.
Chavasse shook his head. 'I wouldn't be too sure. They've been born and bred in this country, remember, and they know the mountains. I should say they're already on their way to the top by some other route.'
'And Max?'
'Gone after the ambush party in the Land Rover if he has any sense. We'd better get moving.'
The corrie slanted back up the slope, a great jagged funnel, choked with boulders and scree and they scrambled up, never stopping until they emerged on to a wide ledge.
Above them, the crest of the ridge lifted in a gentle slope and they scrambled over the edge ten minutes later and found themselves on the rim of the main plateau, a grey, silent world of mist and rain.
There was a faint cry carried by the wind from somewhere on the right. Chavasse turned as Hector Munro emerged over the far rim. He paused, raising his shotgun, and then lowered it, realising he was hopelessly out of range and Chavasse urged Asta forward.
They ran across the plateau, picking their way between great jagged boulders, slipping and sliding over the rough ground and as they neared the far side, Rory Munro emerged from broken ground to the right.
Chavasse swung towards him and Munro had no time to take aim, and then they met, breast to breast, the shotgun between them.
Chavasse didn't hesitate. His knee swung up into the unprotected groin. Rory's mouth opened wide in a gasp of agony and he keeled over. Chavasse hurled the shotgun away over the rocks and as he turned, there was an angry cry and Hector Munro ran towards him. Stavrou twenty or thirty yards behind.
Asta waited on the rim of the plateau. Chavasse took her hand and they went over and down into the mist and rain, riding a great apron of shale and loose earth that moved beneath them.
They landed on a bare, steep slope, rough tussocks of grass growing from crevasses, making the descent difficult, slowing them considerably so that it was a good fifteen minutes before they emerged on a hillside above the glen and moved down through the heather.
But their pursuers were not far behind. At one point Chavasse was aware of a faint cry and, turning, saw Stavrou through a gap in the mist, a couple of hundred feet above them.
They plunged down through a plantation of young firs, arms raised to protect their faces from the branches. When they emerged on the other side, Asta staggered and would have fallen if he hadn't caught her.
She leaned against him, struggling for breath. 'Sorry, Paul, but I can't keep this up for much longer.' And then her eyes widened and she pointed down into the valley. 'Is that them?'
A Land Rover was pulled in at the roadside. Not one of Donner's, but unmistakably Army with the unit and divisional crests painted on its bonnet and sides in bright colours. An officer in jeep coat and peaked cap stood beside it, a map in his hands.
Chavasse called out, waving wildly and, miraculously, the officer turned and looked up. Chavasse grabbed Asta's hand and they plunged down the final slope through the heather, sliding into the ditch at the side of the road. They picked themselves up and ran to the car.
The officer looked towards them, a hand above his eyes to shield them from the rain. He leaned down and said something and his driver got out from behind the wheel and joined him.
It was only in the final moment that Chavasse realised that he was too late. That the driver carried a machine-pistol. That the officer was Jack Murdoch.
As he and Asta halted, waiting helplessly, a Land Rover roared out of the mist behind them and skidded to a halt. Max Donner got out and ran forward, his face cold and angry.
'You know, you've been asking for this, sport,' he said and his fist swung, connecting high on the right cheek, sending Chavasse back into the ditch.
Asta turned and ran and further along the road, Stavrou slid down to the road and moved to meet her, As he dragged her back, Hector Munro and Rory appeared from the plantation above.
'Get down here,' Donner called. 'You're going to ruin everything.'
There was a track on the other side of the road and he nodded to Stavrou. 'Drive the Land Rover in there and make it quick. We haven't got much time.' He pulled Chavasse to his feet and produced a Mauser from his pocket, a bulbous silencer on the end of the barrel. 'Into the trees, sport,' he said grimly. 'I had plans for you, but I can always change them.'
Asta ran past him to Chavasse's side and together they moved across the road into the pine trees as Stavrou drove the Land Rover out of sight. The Munros followed looking slightly bewildered.
They all halted beside the Land Rover, screened from the road by trees and Donner turned to face them. 'And now we wait.'
It was quiet with the rain hissing down through the trees and then in the distance, they heard the sound of a vehicle approaching from the south. As the sound drew nearer, Chavasse realised that there was more than one engine-probably two, which seemed reasonable. A troop carrier for the men, a staff car for the officers.
They started to slow and through the green screen of the pine trees he was aware of movement and then the engines stopped altogether and Murdoch's voice was raised, warm and pleasant, eager to please.
'Captain Bailey, sir, with Colonel von Bayern's party?'
'That's right,' a strange voice said. 'What's all this, then?'
'Lieutenant Grant, sir, attached to Movement Control, Mallaig. There's flooding on the road up ahead, sir, due to last night's heavy rain. My C.O. thought I'd better come to meet you with an alternative route in case of trouble.'
'Surely it can't be as bad as all that if you got here?'
'I only just managed to get across the bridge at Craigie,' Murdoch said, 'and the water was three feet deep then and rising fast. I don't think anything else but a Land Rover could have made it.'
'All right then, what about this alternative route you mentioned?'
'We go through the pass into Glenmore, sir. Poor roads I'm afraid and a longer way round, but we've arranged for you to halt for lunch at Glenmore House.'
'Well, that sounds promising at any rate,' Bailey replied. 'You
take the lead. We'll follow.'
There was the slam of a door, followed by another, a strange, hollow silence and then the engines coughed into life. As they died into the distance, Donner turned to Chavasse and grinned.
'Simple when you know how, sport.'
13
Enter von Bayern
Donner stood in front of the fireplace in the library, adjusting the collar of his uniform. He fastened the top button, placed the peaked cap at a slight angle on his head and nodded in satisfaction.
Behind him, the door opened and Asta entered, Stavrou behind her. Donner turned with a grin and held his arms wide. 'Will I do?'
Asta's eyes burned with hate. 'If I had a gun, I'd kill you, Max,' she said flatly.
He took off his cap and crossed in two quick strides, holding her shoulders gently. 'Asta, I love you. I've always loved you. Just a few hours and I'll be back and we'll fly away from this place-far away where no one can touch us.'
She shook her head. 'I won't go, Max.'
'Give yourself a chance. You'll come round,' he said confidently.
'You murdered my mother,' she said. 'When you touch me, I want to be sick.'
He took an involuntary step back and there was real horror in his eyes. 'Now look, Asta, you've got it all wrong….'
She didn't give him a chance. 'Ruth told me. It's no use trying to deny it now. And I saw what you did to Fergus. I can believe anything after that.'
His face hardened. 'You don't leave me much choice, do you?' He nodded to Stavrou. 'Put her in the cellars with the rest of them and send Munro in here.'
She turned without a word and went out, Stavrou at her heels. Donner walked across to the desk, picked up the Mauser with the bulbous silencer on the barrel and checked the magazine.
The door opened and Murdoch entered with Boris Souvorin. The Russian wore the uniform of a sergeant-major in the German Army and Murdoch, who was to take Bailey's place, had Intelligence Corps insignia on the shoulders of his battledress tunic.
'We're ready when you are,' he said.
Donner nodded. 'Get the men into the truck. I'll be with you in five minutes.'
They went out quickly and he slipped the Mauser into his hip pocket and lit a cigarette. The door opened and Hector Munro came in followed by Stavrou.
Donner turned to face him. 'We're leaving now. Stavrou is staying, but he has things to do, so I want you and your son to help guard the prisoners in the cellar.'
'Well now, I'm not so sure about that,' the old man said. 'I don't like the way this thing is shaping up and that's a fact.'
'And what do you intend to do about it?' Donner said. 'Go to the authorities?' He shook his head. 'I thought you had brains, Hector. You're already in this up to your neck. No turning back now.'
The old man stood there, indecision on his face and Donner slapped him on the shoulder. 'Five hundred apiece for you and Rory when I get back this evening. After that, you can go where you want.'
Munro's eyes brightened. 'By God, that's money, Mr. Donner. Real money.'
'Get to it then.' Donner said and the old man turned and went out quickly.
Donner put on his cap and picked up his gloves. 'You are leaving now?' Stavrou said in Russian.
'I've one small thing to attend to first,' Donner said. 'Come with me.'
He went out into the hall, mounted the stairs quickly and moved along the landing. When he opened the door to Ruth Murray's room, she was lying on the bed, a glass in her hand.
She put it down and got to her feet. 'Max, darling, I haven't seen you all day.'
When she was close enough, he struck her heavily in the face, knocking her back across the bed. She got to her feet again, dazed, blood on her lip.
'What is it, Max? What have I done?'
'You bitch,' he said savagely. 'You told Asta about her mother-about what happened at Lesbos.'
She looked genuinely bewildered. 'No. Max! No-it isn't possible.'
He picked up the brandy decanter and held it front of her face. 'It was this-don't you realise? You were drunk, as you always are. So damned drunk you didn't know what you were doing.'
He tossed the decanter across the room and shoved her back on to the bed. She was completely sober, her eyes wide with horror. 'I didn't mean it, Max. I didn't mean any harm.'
'You never do, angel.'
'What are you going to do?' she whispered hoarsely.
'Do?' He smiled coldly. 'I'm going to give you to Stavrou.'
She shook her head several times from side to side. 'No, Max, you wouldn't do that.'
'Wouldn't I?' Donner said and he turned and went out, closing the door behind him.
Stavrou stood looking down at her, no expression on the cold, cruel face and then he did something she had never known him do before. He laughed.
As he took his first step towards her, she screamed and staggered to her feet, pushing a chair between them. He kicked it to one side as negligently as one might kick a football and she turned and ran to the French windows, wrenching them open so violently that a pane of glass shattered.
But there was no way out. The balcony led nowhere except to the stone terrace at the front of the house forty feet below. She turned and as Stavrou appeared in the window, gave a heart-rending cry and flung herself over the rail.
The cell into which they pushed Chavasse had a barred grill in the door, but no window and when the door closed behind him he found himself in almost total darkness. There was a rustle on the other side of the room and he was aware of a darker shadow against the wall, the white blur of a face.
'Who's there?' he said sharply.
'Ah, English,' the other said, speaking with a slight accent. 'How interesting. Presumably you are on our side?'
'That depends very much on who you are,' Chavasse said.
'Allow me to introduce myself. Gunther von Bayern, Colonel, Military Intelligence Corps, German Army. You don't mind if I call it that, do you? As far as I'm concerned there is only one.'
'Chavasse-Paul Chavasse.'
'Ah, French?'
'And English. You wouldn't have such a thing as a cigarette would you?'
'Be my guest.'
The face that leapt out of the darkness when the match flared was wedge-shaped, the skin drawn tightly over high cheekbones. The eyes were black and flecked with amber and seemed to change colour in the flickering light. He was about forty-five, a handsome, smiling man with a deceptively lazy drawl that didn't fool Chavasse for one minute.
'Wasn't there a Captain Bailey with you?'
Von Bayern nodded. 'Our liaison officer. Poor fellow, when we drove into the courtyard of this damned place and found ourselves under the guns of men who were apparently soldiers in my own army, he tried to make a run for it.'
'They gunned him down?'
'I'm afraid so. Don't you think it's about time you told me what this is all about?'
Chavasse crouched down beside him and started to talk. It took a surprisingly short time and when he finished, von Bayern chuckled softly. 'You know, one really must give credit where it is due. The plan has all the simplicity of genius.'
'And it will work,' Chavasse said. 'It will work and there isn't a damn thing we can do about it.'
Footsteps sounded in the passage outside and when he hurried to the grill, he saw Asta going past with Stavrou. When he called, she turned and hurried across.
'Are you all right, Paul?'
'Fine, angel.'
Von Bayern's face appeared beside him. 'May I have the pleasure of an introduction?'
'Asta Svensson-Gunther von Bayern.'
'Distinctly my pleasure,' von Bayern said, and Stavrou, scowling, dragged her away.
They heard a door slam further down the passage, a key turn in the lock and Stavrou went past on his own.
'A nasty looking piece of work, that one,' von Bayern observed.
'Stavrou?' Chavasse nodded. 'He's supposed to be Greek.'
Von Bayern shook his head. 'Definitely from
east of the Urals. I fought too many of his breed in my youth to be mistaken.'
He offered Chavasse another cigarette and they sat down on an old wooden packing case. 'A charming girl, by the way. Are you in love with her?'
'You don't pull your punches, do you?'
'My dear Paul-you don't mind if I call you that, do you? There really isn't time for any other approach. Life is always cruel, usually unjust and often very wonderful in between. It pays to recognise those moments.'
'You're a strange one,' Chavasse said. 'Here we are, condemned to rot in this dump for an unspecified period while the world crumbles around us and you philosophise. What does it take to depress you?'
Von Bayern chuckled. 'I was in Stalingrad-in fact I am one of the few men I know who actually got out of Stalingrad. Everything else in my life has been a distinct improvement. It would be impossible for it to be anything else.'
There was a sudden rattle at the door and when Chavasse turned, Hector Munro leered in at them through the grill. 'Well, well, now, isn't that nice?' he said. 'Is it warm enough for you, Mr. Chavasse?'
Chavasse moved across to the door and looked out at him. 'Where's Donner? I'd like to speak to him.'
'He left better than an hour ago,' Hector Munro chuckled. 'You're in my care now, my brave wee mannie. Now I am going to eat my fill of Mr. Donner's good food and drink my fill of Mr. Donner's fine whisky. Maybe in a couple of hours or perhaps three I'll be back to see if you've frozen to death.'
His laughter echoed back to them as he went up the steps and the door at the top shut with harsh finality.
Donner stood in the wheelhouse of the LCT and looked through a porthole at the length of the ship. The hold was a steel shell and the Bedford troop carrier and the olive green staff car belonging to their party seemed to be the only cargo. Beyond were the great steel bow doors of the beaching exit.
The sea was choppy with a slight breeze from the north-west and although the mist and the rain had reduced visibility, they had made good time from Mallaig.