She held him close to her.
‘I won’t panic ... promise.’
‘Let’s go.’
They kissed, then together they pushed the raft down the slope into the water. It floated easily. Girland picked up the automatic rifle and slid down the bank, catching hold of the raft and steadying it. Mala joined him.
‘Get aboard,’ Girland said, ‘lay flat and keep to the offside.’
The drum dipped as Mala edged her way flat across the top of the drums. Girland held the raft steady and then drawled on and lay beside her. He had stuck the two candles on the foremost drum. The raft sank lower under his weight until it was just above the surface of the water.
‘Well, at least it floats.’ Girland said, then using the butt of the automatic rifle as a paddle, he moved the raft down the tunnel of water.
The rifle was heavy and Girland wondered how long he would be able to use it as a paddle. Four kilometres of water, Jan had told him. Well, they were on their way and the raft was floating. But very soon, he felt a nagging ache developing in his back and he realised that he was wasting his strength using the rifle as a paddle.
‘This isn’t going to work.’ he said and pulled the rifle out of the water. ‘We’ll use our hands.’
Suppressing a shudder. Mala dipped her hand into the filthy water. They began to paddle. The raft moved sluggishly, but it made progress. For more than half an hour, they continued to paddle with their hands and the raft continued to drift down the tunnel. Mala’s arm was aching now, but she kept on. Looking up, Girland realised the dripping roof of the tunnel was closer and he guessed there was now more water in the tunnel than from where they had come. The air was getting bad. He could hear Mala gasping.
‘Take a rest.’ he said.
As she thankfully lifted her hand out of the water, she saw two glittering sparks close to her in the water. She jerked her hand up so violently, the raft wobbled.
‘Steady,’ Girland said. ‘What is it?’
‘There’s something in the water!’ She peered fearfully into the oily blackness but could see nothing.
Then Girland saw the twin sparks and snatched his hand out of the water as a big water rat made a pounce. It hit the side of the drums and recoiled.
Mala stifled a scream as she now saw the water was alive with rats.
Girland reached out and put his arm across her shoulders.
‘Don’t panic, honey,’ he said. ‘We’ll get through,’ but he was aware that the raft had come to a standstill. He could see in the flickering light of the candles that the water around them was swarming with vicious looking rats. He grabbed up the rifle and began to paddle with desperate strokes. The raft wobbled and then moved forward, its speed increasing under Girland’s frantic efforts.
A big rat, sleek with water, its eyes glowing, leapt out of the water and landed on the barrel of the gun. It snapped at Girland’s hand, but he was just too quick for it. He struck it with his left hand throwing it back into the water, then reversing the rifle, and aiming at the carpet of moving rodents, he pulled the trigger.
The noise of the exploding cartridge in the enclosed space was like a bomb going off. One moment there was a sea of rats around them: the next the rats had vanished. He could feel the great swirl of water as they dived and swam in panic away from the raft
‘Paddle!’ he cried
They began paddling with their hands but this time with a fast, exhausting stroke that sent the raft surging forward. But this pace couldn’t last for long. Mala felt her strength draining out of her. In spite of forcing herself, her arm slowly lost power and finally she collapsed.
‘I can’t go on! I can’t!’ she sobbed weakly.
‘All right, baby,’ Girland said soothingly. ‘Take a rest. Get your hand out of the water.’
They lay for some time, struggling to breathe. The raft drifted slowly forward. Then Girland felt something touch his shoulders. He stiffened, controlling the impulse to swing over on his back, knowing such a move might capsize the raft. Again something touched his back. Cautiously, he lifted his head and then realised that it was the roof of the tunnel scraping his shoulders as the raft drifted forward.
Was the tunnel ahead completely blocked by water? he wondered. Carefully, he turned on his back. He reached up and began to propel the raft forward by pushing against the slimy surface of the roof.
‘Turn over.’ he said. ‘Be careful! The roof’s right on top of us.’
Mala turned slowly. When she saw how close the roof was, she caught her breath sharply.
‘We won’t get through!’ The edge of panic in her voice made Girland put his hand over hers.
‘Come on, baby,’ he said. ‘You can help with this. We’re getting out ... it’s a promise.’
He began to push against the roof and Mala, stifling her panic, imitated him. The raft began to move forward at a much faster speed.
The air was very bad now. Every now and then, a projecting rock in the roof threatened to force the raft under water, but Girland managed to manoeuvre around it. Neither of them had any idea how long they continued to claw their way along the tunnel. Time stood still for them.
Scarcely able to breathe, sweat pouring from her body. Mala kept on She had complete faith in Girland. He had said they would get out, and that meant they would get out.
But after what seemed to her to be an eternity, she felt her arms growing heavy. Her heart was racing. She made a desperate effort as she felt consciousness slipping away from her Finally, her hands dropped and she collapsed into a huddled heap of despair.
Exerting his remaining strength. Girland kept pushing against the roof, sending the raft on and on into the evil smelling darkness. He too could scarcely breathe, and his efforts were becoming weaker. Then he found he had to reach further up to touch the roof. That could only mean the level of the water was dropping. He kept on. A few minutes later, his arms were fully extended and he was breathing more freely. Suddenly the roof was out of his reach and the raft began to lose momentum. He dragged himself on to his knees and again reached the roof. The raft tilted and he hurriedly adjusted its balance. He kept on until he had to stand to reach the roof, and then the roof was right out of his reach and a sudden breath of fresh air swirled around him. He lowered himself to lay flat on the raft and began paddling with his hands.
Mala stirred as the fresh air revived her.
‘We’re through,’ Girland gasped. ‘We’ve done it! Come on, sweetheart ... start paddling?’
* * *
O’Halloran climbed from the military jet after it had landed at the Wein-Schwechat airport.
Frank Howard, the C.I.A. agent, ran across the tarmac and greeted him.
‘I have a helicopter waiting,’ he said. He was a tall, thin, youngish man with thinning hair and an aggressive jaw. ‘Von Raitenau is expecting you. I’ll brief you as we go.’
O’Halloran nodded and the two men walked across the tarmac to where a military helicopter was waiting. Once settled in their seats behind the pilot and as the machine became airborne, Howard said, ‘Girland is trapped in a defunct copper mine. There are only two exits.’ He went on to tell O’Halloran about Jan and Blanca Braun. ‘I imagine Girland will try for the second exit. He’ll be damn lucky if he breaks out. From what von Raitenau tells me the tunnel is full of water and man-eating rats, but he might just do it. Malik and Smernoff are handling the operation. This could be dodgy.’
O’Halloran was completely relaxed.
‘I’ve known Girland for some time,’ he said. ‘He has this trick of survival. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he’ll get through.’
Howard grinned and shook his head.
‘No bet! I’ve heard plenty about Girland myself.’
The two men watched the ground slide under them as the helicopter pounded on towards the frontier.
* * *
Malik was getting worried. He had taken much longer than an hour, to get within distance of the mine and now there seemed t
o be considerable activity on this side of the frontier.
Three times he had to hide in the long grass as Austrian soldiers patrolled through the forest. Time was running out. It was now some minutes after four o’clock, and the sky was lightening.
For the moment the forest had become silent. Satisfied that the Austrian patrol had passed him, Malik stood up and began to move more quickly. In the distance he could see the outline of a derrick against the sky, and he knew he was at last approaching the entrance to the mine. But at this point, the forest petered out. He was now confronted by a large open space of rough grass and sand, and beyond, shrubs. He paused by a tree to listen. Somewhere to his right, he could hear men moving through the forest and a distant voice calling. He could see the mineshaft: a narrow tunnel overgrown by grass and shrubs. It would be from here that Girland would come if he came at all. Malik judged the distance and decided the range was too far for a certain shot with an automatic pistol. He would have to get closer: this would mean leaving his cover. Again he listened. The sound of movement and voices had died away He hesitated, then ran fast across the grass and sand and plunged down behind a shrub. He waited for an alarm, but nothing happened. He surveyed the ground. To his left, growing on a small hillock was a thick clump of wild shrubs. From there, if Girland came from the tunnel, he would have a perfect shot at him. He ran to the hillock and flattened down on the sand behind the shrub. He took the heavy automatic pistol from its holster, slid back the safety catch and checked the magazine, then satisfied, he laid it on the sand within instant reach.
How long would he have to wait? he wondered. Maybe Smernoff had been right when he said he was crazy. The chances were Girland wouldn’t succeed in escaping from the mine, then when the minefield had been cleared, the soldiers would move in to trap him. Again Malik heard distant voices.
He looked towards the forest, but could see no movement. Then it dawned on him that if the Austrian troops remained in the forest, he could not risk shooting Girland. Even if he killed him, he himself would be trapped. The sound of the shot would bring the soldiers around him like a swarm of wasps and he would have no chance of getting back to the other side of the frontier.
Well, he would wait. He had no doubt, with his immense strength, he could kill Girland with his bare hands, but was he in the best position, should Girland come from the mouth of the tunnel? He surveyed the ground and decided he wasn’t.
He must make his way to the high ground above the mouth of the tunnel. From there he could drop on Girland as he came out.
As the sun came up behind the trees. Malik cautiously began to edge towards the new position.
* * *
The raft bumped gently against the bank. Ahead of him, Girland could see daylight. Fresh air, pouring down the mineshaft, cooled his exhausted, sweating body. ‘We’ve arrived, baby,’ he said. ‘We’re in Austria.’
Mala lay flat on her back, too tired, too exhausted to care.
She was streaked with dust, her jeans were plastered to her body, her hair in long wet rattails.
‘Come on, sweetheart.’ Girland said. ‘We’ve arrived.’
He slid off the raft into the filthy water and hauled the raft up on to the sandy bank. His body ached and he felt frighteningly weak, but he didn’t care: they had won through.
Mala made the effort and reaching for his hand, dragged herself off the raft. They lay side by side, breathing the cool air and resting. They remained like that for some minutes, then Girland stirred himself. Getting up, he untied the rucksack from the raft. Their difficulties weren’t over yet, he told himself. He had no idea what their reception would be when they encountered the frontier guards. He had no idea how far away they were from the nearest village or town.
‘Feel like moving?’ he asked, bending over Mala who lay flat on her back, her eyes half open.
She regarded him and smiled.
‘You’re a wonderful man. I’m so grateful to you.’
‘The civil reception can come later.’ Girland said. ‘Come on ... up on your feet.’
She gave him her hand and he pulled her to her feet.
‘I must look a sight.’ she said ruefully.
He laughed.
‘I’ve seen worse, but not much worse.’ He picked up the rifle and the rucksack. ‘Let’s go.’
Slowly, side by side, they walked up the long tunnel.
Ahead of them, they could see a small circle of blue sky. When they finally reached the mouth of the tunnel, Girland stopped, putting his hand on Mala’s arm.
‘Stay here. I’m taking a look around. We don’t want to get shot by some trigger-happy Austrian.’ He laid down the rifle and the rucksack. ‘When I’m satisfied it’s safe, I’ll be right back.’
‘No! Don’t leave me!’ Mala’s eyes widened with fear. ‘Let me come with you.’
‘Do what I tell you,’ Girland said. ‘I must see first if it is safe.’
The tone of his voice quelled her rising panic.
‘All right ... I’ll wait.’
He regarded her affectionately. Although she was dirty, bedraggled and woebegone, there was this thing about her that made her special to him. He gave her a little hug.
‘I’ll be right back.’
He moved cautiously to the opening of the mouth of the tunnel. He stood for some time looking across the rough grass, the shrubs and the sand. There was a brooding silence over the distant forest. The sun made shadows. Lazy white clouds floated in the blue sky. It looked very peaceful out there, but Girland had learned never to take anything on its face value.
He remained still, listening. No sound came to him. Well, it looked safe, he told himself, and was about to call to Mala when he stiffened to attention. A few metres from him he saw a footprint in the sand. He studied it then looked for other prints, but couldn’t see any more. Someone had been here, had moved from one grass tuft to another and had probably slipped and made this print before recovering and getting back to the grass.
Girland moved back. One footprint! This could only mean the man who had come here had been anxious to leave no trace of his approach. He again studied the print: the impression was deep and big: therefore a big heavily built man. Girland became very alert. A big, heavily built man ... Malik? Again he studied the ground. He could see nothing suspicious.
Could it be Malik? Had he crossed the frontier, knowing there was this exit from the mine? Girland nodded. Yes, Malik would take such a risk.
He returned to where Mala was waiting.
‘I think we have trouble,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I don’t know for sure, but I think Malik is out there waiting for us.’
Mala caught hold of his hand.
‘Take it easy,’ Girland said. ‘We can handle this.’ He picked up the automatic rifle. ‘Have you ever used one of these?’
She stared at him, her eyes dark with fear.
‘No.’
‘It’s simple enough. Here, take hold of it.’ He pushed the gun into her shaking hands. ‘All you have to do is to point it and keep your finger hard on the trigger. It will fire twenty continuous rounds. Understand?’
She nodded dumbly.
‘Here’s what to do. I’m going out there. You come to the mouth of the tunnel. Point the gun at the sky and as soon as I’m in the open, press and hold back the trigger. Watch out. The gun will be hard to hold. The idea is to distract Malik’s attention until I can spot where he is. The noise will also alert the frontier guards.’
While this was going on, Malik had seen Girland’s shadow as he had come nearly into the open. He could hear him talking.
He decided to make the first move.
Girland was saying, ‘Got it all? Okay, don’t be scared. All you have to do ...’
‘Don’t move,’ Malik barked. He appeared at the mouth of the tunnel, his pistol covering both Girland and Mala.
Mala dropped the rifle and screamed.
Girland grinned wryly.
‘I had an idea you were around.’
he said. ‘You’re sticking your thick neck out crossing the frontier, aren’t you?’
‘Come out here,’ Malik said and began to move back into the open, still covering them. ‘The girl stays where she is. You come Girland. I want you.’
Girland’s mind worked swiftly. Malik could have shot them both without them even knowing he was there. Why hadn’t he? Obviously, being on the wrong side of the frontier, he would know at the sound of a shot he would be trapped. So, the gun in Malik’s hand was bluff. He dare not shoot.
Girland regarded him.
‘Run away,’ he said. ‘If you’re lucky, you might just get back to the other side. Go on Comrade, get lost!’
Malik studied him. He realised that Girland knew the gun was a bluff.
‘I warned you the next time we met it would be the last time.’ he said. ‘Come out here.’
Although Girland was ready for Malik, he wasn’t prepared for the speed this giant could move. With a quick flick, Malik tossed the gun from him and came at Girland with a charging rush. It was like the spring of a wild cat. He had the advantage of being on higher ground. Girland was badly placed. Malik hit him with his body, sending him crashing flat on his back. As Malik made a grab at Girland’s throat, one of his long legs swept Mala off her feet, sending her flying back to land with a splash and a scream into the oily water.
The grip on Girland’s throat was like a vice. Savage, thick fingers dug into his windpipe. Malik was some ten kilos the heavier and Girland was completely flattened. While the breath in his lungs lasted and he knew it could only last a few seconds, he slashed at the side of Malik’s neck with a chopping karate blow. Malik relaxed his grip and geared back, then smashed his clenched fist down towards Girland’s face, but Girland, breath streaming back into his lungs, shifted his head in time and Malik’s’ fist slammed down on the Stone ground.
He caught his breath in a gasp of agony as the bones in his hand shattered. Girland chopped him again and Malik fell away from him. Girland tried to struggle up, but his strength had gone. He managed to roll away from Malik and the two men lay on their sides, staring at each other. Slowly, his left arm hanging by his side, Malik got to his feet. He looked down at Girland.
1967 - Have This One on Me Page 18