The Dark Side Of The Island

by Jack Higgins

  Lomax turned, firing from the hip in a wide arc that drove the man against the wall and continued to cut down the two boys who still stood by the table, bewildered and uncertain. One of them screamed in his agony, heels drumming against the floor. Lomax finished him with another quick burst and turned and ran out into the hall.

  As he reached the foot of the stairs, Boyd came round the corner. There was blood on his face where a piece of stone had sliced his cheek.

  "Turned the corner and met one of them coming down," he said. "Too bloody quick for me. Closed some kind of steel trapdoor where the stairs pass through the first floor."

  "They'll have every soldier in town up here before we know it," Lomax said. "And Nikoli isn't supposed to blow the bridge until he hears this lot go. You'll have to lay your charges here."

  Boyd didn't argue. He took off his pack and opened it. The plastic explosive he was using was already made up into charges and Lomax helped him to fuse them quickly. Boyd placed them round the walls at spaced intervals. As he started to wire them up, an explosion sounded in the distance.

  They looked at each other for a brief moment and then Boyd continued with his task, face calm. Something had obviously made Nikoli Aleko move ahead of time. Probably a vehicle had tried to cross the bridge and he had realised that something must have gone wrong. "Is there enough?" Lomax demanded. Boyd shrugged. "Depends how good the foundations are. In this climate, the mortar in these old buildings is usually pretty rotten."

  He linked the wires to a small, battery-operated detonating box and nodded. "You get the truck moving. As soon as I hear the engine, I'll set this thing for thirty seconds."

  Lomax moved outside quickly. The dead sentry still crouched on the floor of the cab, flies crawling over his face. Lomax dragged him out and clambered behind the wheel. The engine roared into life and as he moved into gear, Boyd ran out of the entrance and swung up beside him.

  Lomax turned so tightly that the off-side wheels lifted. As they accelerated across the yard, someone fired a Schmeisser from one of the upper storeys, the bullets kicking fountains of dust into the air ten yards to the left and then they were through the gates.

  The explosion, when it came, was tremendous and in the driving mirror Lomax saw a great cloud mushroom above the walls, the tower rising from its centre.

  For a few moments it remained straight and true and then it seemed to lurch to one side. It started to fall in slow motion, gathering momentum as it disappeared into the dust and smoke.

  Boyd had been leaning out of the window and he turned with a grin and wiped blood from his face with the back of his hand. "I don't mind telling you I was worried there for a moment or two."

  "I still am," Lomax told him. "The sooner we're on the other side of the mountain, the better I'll like it."

  He took the truck down through the ravine in a cloud of dust and braked sharply as they came out into the open. A German troop-carrier had just rounded the shoulder of the mountain a couple of hundred yards below and was moving towards them.

  There were only seconds in which to act and he gave Boyd a shove towards the other door. "Get out of it," he shouted.

  Boyd didn't argue. He jumped to the ground and Lomax took the truck forward in a burst of speed. A moment later, he opened the door and jumped.

  The Germans seemed unaware of their danger until the last moment and then their driver swung the wheel of the troop carrier so sharply that the vehicle heeled over into the ditch as the empty truck rolled past. Fifty yards further on, it went over the edge of the road and disappeared from view as another troop-carrier came round the shoulder of the mountain.

  As Lomax climbed out of the ditch and started across the road, a dozen soldiers ran towards him. He dropped to one knee and loosed off a long burst that sent them diving for cover and then continued across the road and began to scramble up the slope.

  Behind him, the grey-clad figures fanned out as he worked his way up diagonally, keeping to the shelter of the boulders. He paused once and a bullet kicked up dirt uncomfortably close and he ducked and kept on moving.

  They were close now, very close. He slipped, losing his footing, and slid back several paces on the steep slope and heard a cry of triumph behind him that was immediately followed by an explosion. As the echo died away, he heard not the sound of pursuit, but the cries of the wounded and dying.

  As he got to his feet, Boyd appeared from behind a boulder a little further up the hill. His arm went back and a grenade curved through the air. Lomax ducked instinctively as it exploded and scrambled desperately up the last few feet and joined Boyd on a tiny shelf.

  He turned, gasping for breath, and leaned against the boulder. Below them, the survivors of the first troop were still coming up the slope. At their backs, an exposed cliff lifted to the summit.

  "Nikoli should have blown that bridge sooner," he said.

  Boyd nodded. "This whole thing's beginning to stink."

  On their left, the mountainside lifted steeply to the tiny hollow in which stood the shepherd's hut in which they had spent the night. The men from the other troop-carrier were already well up the slope, moving to cut off their retreat.

  Lomax didn't hesitate. He moved out quickly and started across the slope, Boyd at his heels. Bullets thudded into the ground a few feet beneath them and he knew it could only be a matter of seconds until they found the range. To keep going on the steep hillside was difficult enough, but Boyd paused and loosed off a wild burst to keep their heads down. The Germans didn't even bother to look for cover. They halted and started to fire in earnest and then, quite suddenly, one of them spun round and fell on his face and then another. Immediately, the whole group fanned out and dropped behind the nearest available cover.

  Someone was firing at them from the hollow just below the rim of the mountain and Lomax slung his sub-machine gun round his neck and moved upwards, blood in his mouth, hands clawing at the loose stones.

  He scrambled over the rim of the hollow, Boyd right behind him. Katina was lying behind a boulder, Boyd's Winchester sporting rule to her shoulder. She fired two shots in rapid succession and moved beside him. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.

  "I was worried," she said. "When I woke up this morning I had a bad feeling so I thought I'd come and wait for you at the hut. I found the rifle and the rest of your things and then everything started to happen at once."

  Boyd was sitting with his back to a boulder. He'd lifted his battle smock and shirt and was in the act of pressing a field dressing against an ugly, puckered wound.

  Lomax dropped to one knee beside him. "Is it bad?"

  Boyd forced a grin. "Don't worry about me. I'll take my belt in another notch."

  Katina peered over the edge of the plateau and drew back quickly. "They're very close."

  "Right, we'd better get moving," he said.

  He gave Boyd a hand and got him to his feet and they worked their way up the slope to the plateau and the Tomb of Achilles.

  They crossed to the far rim and looked down the mountain to the other side of the island. Boyd's face was twisted with pain and sweat stood in great drops on his forehead. He turned despairingly to Lomax. "It's no go, I can't move fast enough. I'm just going to drag you down."

  Lomax ignored him and turned to Katina. "I'll hold them here. Get him as far down the hillside as possible. In ten minutes, I'll make a run for it and try to lead them away. Get him down to the farm. I'll join you there after dark."

  He took the Winchester from her and handed her Boyd's sub-machine gun. He didn't give either of them a chance to argue, but turned and ran back to the far edge of the plateau and dropped behind a boulder that gave him a clear view of the hut.

  A soldier moved cautiously over the edge of the hollow. Through the telescopic sight, Lomax could see the eagle clearly on the man's tunic as he squeezed the trigger.

  When he glanced back over his shoulder a moment later, he was alone.

  11

  No Hard Fee
lings, Captain Lomax

  It started to rain as he went cautiously down the hillside towards the farm and fog rolled in from the sea pushed by a cold finger of wind. His mouth was dry and every bone in his body seemed to be aching.

  He paused in the shelter of an olive tree and looked down into the hollow. The farm lay dark and still, rooted solidly into the ground, and he moved on down and ducked under the fence.

  He paused at the horse trough, splashed water over his face with one hand and washed out his mouth. As he straightened, the barn door opened and Katina emerged.

  "I was up in the loft watching for you," she said. "I'd begun to think you were never coming."

  He sensed immediately that something was wrong and moved closer, peering down at her. "Where's Boyd?"

  There was a moment's silence before she said slowly, "In the first stall. I couldn't get him any further."

  Something in her voice told him what he would find, but he moved inside quickly, taking his electric torch from his pocket.

  Boyd lay on his back in the straw, his sightless eyes partially retracted, the hands that had been folded neatly across his breast, already cold and stiff.

  "He was all right until we reached the top of the hill," Katina said in a dead voice. "And then he had a haemorrhage. I've never seen so much blood. It took me nearly an hour to get him down here."

  She started to cry and he dropped the Winchester and pulled her into his arms. Her slight body was racked with sobs and he held her close and gently stroked her hair.

  After a while, she seemed to have control of herself and moved away. "I'm sorry. I'm behaving like a child. You should be getting down to the bay. You haven't got much time."

  He was tired, more tired than he had been in four long years and nothing seemed to matter any longer. He took out a cigarette, lit it and blew out the smoke with a sigh and high up on the hillside the clear bell-like cry of a hound sounded on the night air.

  She gripped his arm quickly and he said, "I thought I'd lost them in a water-course a mile back. It seems I was mistaken."

  "There's still time," she said urgently.

  He shook his head. "For you, Katina, but not for me. I'll try to lead them away. The moment the shooting starts slip out through the olive grove and work your way back over the mountain. I'll leave you the Winchester. It comes to pieces so you should be able to hide it easily."

  "I won't leave you," she said.

  He gripped her arms tightly. "Father John was right about me. Fighting and running, leaving other people to face the consequences. It's time I took some of the blame myself."

  "But what purpose will it serve?" she said desperately.

  "I don't know," he said. "It may help the people of Kyros, it may not. It'll be worth it if it only helps you."

  She was crying again, her head against his chest. He tilted her chin, kissed her on the mouth once and then pushed her gently away. With a quick jerk he snapped the gold chain around his neck and dropped it and the coin into her hand. "I won't be needing this again."

  He pulled Boyd into a sitting position, stooped and tilted him over one shoulder. The body was surprisingly light and when he moved outside, the cold rain stung his face, giving him a new energy.

  The dogs were very close now and as he crossed the yard and moved along the track, they came over the crest of the hill above his head.

  He broke into a shambling run and after a while turned off the track and moved across the barren hillside. He paused on top of a small rise, laid Boyd carefully down and turned, unslinging his machine gun.

  They were coming down through the olive grove now and he loosed off a long burst. The dogs howled excitedly and he heard shouts and several shots were fired in reply. He turned and started to run, but for some reason his legs refused to function properly and he tripped and fell heavily over a stone.

  For a little while he lay there half-stunned and then he struggled to his feet. They had skirted the farm and were running along the track, men and dogs in full cry. He raised the sub-machine gun and pressed the trigger, flame stabbing the night in a long, reverberating roll that emptied the gun.

  He tossed the useless weapon to one side and turned to run as a Schmeisser stuttered in reply. It was as if he had been kicked sharply in the legs several times and he fell forward on to his face.

  Everything was going away from him, but he was still conscious when a hand gripped him by the shoulder and turned him over and a torch was shone into his face. He could hear the excited voices of the soldiers and the snarling of the dogs as they were held back and the whole swelled into a meaningless roar and he plunged into darkness.

  Slowly the blackness turned to grey and he was aware of somebody talking quietly near at hand. He opened his eyes and saw a light directly over his head like a baleful eye.

  He was lying on a narrow operating table and when he moved slightly, the talking stopped and quick footsteps sounded across a tiled floor. The man who leaned over him wore a neat white smock and was obviously a doctor.

  "Just relax," he said. "You're going to be all right."

  A male nurse moved beside him carrying a tray and the doctor filled a hypodermic and gave Lornax another injection. As he finished, a door swung open and Steiner came in and leaned over the operating table.

  There was a faint smile on his face. "So, my dear Lomax. You are still with us?"

  Lomax frowned, trying to push himself upright. "How did you know my name?"

  The male nurse pressed a foot-pump, automatically raising one end of the table, bringing them face to face, and Steiner laughed. "I've got a file on you six inches thick in my office. Intelligence keep adding to it each month, I never thought we'd see you on Kyros, though. Excellent job you did on the monastery, by the way. Worth another bar to your MC I should imagine."

  He took a cigarette from a slim gold case, put it in Lomax's mouth and lit it. "How do you feel?"

  Lomax looked down and saw that his trousers had been cut open. Both legs were heavily bandaged. "As if I shouldn't be here."

  "But you are," Steiner said. "Unfortunate, really. I'm supposed to have you shot. I presume you're aware of that?"

  "I've had a good run," Lomax said.

  "Of course a little cooperation might help me to change my mind," Steiner said. "The names of the people who helped you, for instance."

  "I didn't need local assistance," Lomax said. "I had half a dozen good men with me."

  "That's strange," Steiner said. "So far we've only accounted for you and the dead sergeant who was with you when you were picked up. How do you explain that?"

  "The rest of my men must have made the rendezvous on time." Lomax glanced at his wrist-watch and tried to sound convincing. "We were due to be picked up by a submarine at eight o'clock on the other side of the island." He smiled faintly. "You've missed the boat, Colonel."

  "Then it is impossible for us to come to an understanding?"

  "There's nothing to come to an understanding about."

  "Somehow I thought you'd say that." Steiner pulled on his gloves. "No hard feelings, Lomax. I respect a brave man, but I've got to do my job."

  "No hard feelings," Lomax said.

  The German shook hands and went out and Lomax lay back against the pillow. Nothing seemed to matter any more and he was beginning to feel sleepy as the drug started to take effect. The strange thing was that Steiner had seemed to be laughing at him and he couldn't think why. The nurse lowered the end of the table and he stared up at the light and after a while drifted into sleep.

  When he awakened, he found himself lying on a stretcher in an ambulance. Two medical orderlies in field uniform were sitting beside him and he turned his head weakly and frowned. "Where am I? What's happening?"

  One of them leaned across, a young, pleasant-faced boy, eyes serious under the forage cap. "There's nothing to worry about. You're going to Crete, that's all. Your leg needs a special operation."

  He lay there in a daze, trying to make some sense o
ut of it, but he found it impossible to concentrate and then the ambulance stopped and they opened the doors and took him outside.

  It was early morning, grey and overcast with a light rain falling and a cold wind blew across the harbour. Thirty or forty people stood talking in little groups on the pier, mostly fishermen with one or two women hovering on the fringe,

  They moved forward curiously as the two orderlies picked up the stretcher and the guards had to push a way through.

  It took them a minute or two to get the stretcher down the ladder to the waiting E-boat and the orderlies laid him on the deck beside the wheelhouse and stood beside him as the sailors quickly cast off.

  As the water churned at the stern and the boat pulled away from the pier, the people crowded silently forward to the edge. Lomax looked up at the line of white, meaningless faces, his vision blurring slightly, and then Katina's seemed to jump out at him.

  So she was safe? There was that much to be thankful for. She was wearing a headscarf and looked exactly as he had seen her on that first night, very young, the eyes like shadows in the white face and a lump rose in his throat that threatened to choke him.

  He lay there on the deck, the cold rain falling on his face and as the island faded into the mist a seagull dipped over his head and fled through the grey morning like a departing spirit.

  Book Three

  A Sound of Hunting

  12

  One Should Never Return to Anything

  When he awakened, the coin was still firmly clutched in his right hand. He stared at it, a frown of bewilderment on his face, his first conscious thought that it should not be in his possession, and then he remembered.

  The past and the present had become so inextricably mixed that it was difficult to make sense of either. He dropped the coin and chain on the small beside table, swung his legs to the floor and sat there trying to get his bearings.

  Who am I, he thought? The Nightcomer or Hugh Lomax, residence California, scriptwriter and novelist of sorts? There was no answer or none that would suffice. He had become a stranger to himself and he got to his feet and moved across to the washstand.