She took the end of the rope coils and pulled off about thirty feet. The rope was strong and stiff and felt rough to her small hands. It was also heavy. She made two loops round the steam winch and passed the end of the rope through the loops. She pulled it as tight as she could and went to the smooth-sided sheave and peered out cautiously.
There was no sign of life on the quayside or in the whaling station. She listened carefully for voices but heard nothing, so she lowered the rope down into the water. Because of the flared bow Ailie knew the rope would not be seen by casual observation from the gun platform. She could only hope that if anyone noticed it from the quayside they would not attach any significance to it.
When she had finished she found her hands were trembling. Whether through fear or hunger she didn't know, but she felt the whole spasm pass through her body. She was forced to sit down and lean against the bulkhead until the spasm was over.
Feeling quite miserable and sorry for herself, Ailie crawled back to her cramped hiding place and pulled the stifling cover over her head, praying that she had done enough and that it would not be too long before Billy came and freed her from this nightmare.
*
Billy rolled over on to his back in the tufts of coarse grass gasping for air. Each indrawn breath tore at the tender sinews of his lungs and he was afraid he might vomit from the pain. He had run from the cottage with fear at his heels and driven himself into a flight of panic until he could run no further as his weakened, stumbling legs gave way and he collapsed to the ground.
He gasped and heaved and could feel his heart pulsing solidly beneath his rib cage. The sky above him covered his entire field of vision, but even that seemed to move in a dizzy blur. He rolled over on to his stomach and lifted his head, looking back into the distance. There were no signs of pursuit, so he laid his head in the cool, wet grass and let his heart slow down to a gentler, saner pace.
As he relaxed and regained the comfort of normal breathing he took stock of his situation and admitted to himself that he had been entirely stupid. He had blundered from one incident to another, killed five men, been unable to prevent Schafer making progress, lost his beloved Ailie and almost certainly been responsible for the suffering inflicted on his mother. He had achieved nothing, except to render himself defenceless and probably placed the islanders in even more danger. Despite all that, he knew the fight had to continue. Somehow, someway he knew it was his lot to prevent Schafer getting off the island. And he knew that other people's possessions, spiritual or physical, were forfeit in the struggle to win the battle and defeat the Nazi invaders.
Suddenly, Billy hit upon a solution; or at least the chance of one. He thought about Kyle Luke watching out over the Atlantic from his marine atrium, warmed by the pot-bellied stove and surrounded by his chattels of office, his eyes constantly scanning the sea and sky. He was the only man watching North Cape, waiting subjectively for a radio link to be established.
It was then that Billy decided to set fire to Reevel Anderson's big house. He knew it was unlikely that the radio would be working, but if the house was fired old Kyle would see the smoke. The old man would know it was from either the house or the whaling station because they were the two most easterly buildings on the island. Billy knew the old man would be alert enough to contact the Royal Navy. If he put his plan into action now, it could all be over by nightfall.
*
Callum MacDonald was like a broken man. He sat staring vacantly at the far wall and it was only the sound of the door opening that triggered a movement from him. He turned his head slowly and looked down to the bottom of the room. He saw Schafer step through the open door. Beside him was Maura. She looked half dead and as the two storm troopers holding her by each arm released her, she collapsed on the floor. Schafer said nothing. He pivoted on his heel, his face expressing nothing more than a contemptuous sneer and walked out through the door. Within the space of a minute the Germans were gone and the schoolroom was silent again.
Either because of embarrassment or self-conscious feelings of guilt, nobody moved for a while. Then Doctor Kristen got up and went over to Maura who was lying like a crumpled rag on the school floor. What he saw shocked and appalled him. He lifted the blanket that was wrapped round her shoulders and covered her, draping it carefully over her battered body. Whatever 'crime' this woman had been guilty of, he thought, she had paid the price. He arranged the blanket so that it wrapped around her body in a tight swathe, and called to the others to help him. Reevel was the first to respond. Marker followed.
"How is she?"
The doctor shook his head. "She might survive, but there's no telling what damage has been done in here." He tapped her lightly on the forehead. "Help me get her into the back room."
He called to one of the women there to come with him. Together they lifted Maura as carefully as they could and carried her into the wash-room. There was no other place to lay her other than on the cold floor. The woman who had helped carry her in removed her own shawl and laid it on the floor. They put Maura there and washed her gently, carefully daubing the open wounds. Maura flinched as the doctor's hands passed over her ribs and he could feel the ragged edge of the broken bone.
He tore her dress to make a support for the damaged rib. Then he wrapped her thighs and hips to provide some dignifying comfort. He used the blanket again to cover her. He wrapped it round her as best he could to keep her warm, and then asked Reevel and Marker to help carry her back into the schoolroom.
Maura opened her eyes as they propped her up against the wall. "I told them" she said weakly. "They know everything."
Doctor Kristen put his hand on her forehead. "Do you feel strong enough to tell us what happened?"
"Billy killed two more of them. It drove Kretschmer mad. He did this to me." Her eyes filled with tears. "They caught Billy, but I saved him." There was no feeling in her voice. "Schafer was going to shoot him but he's all right now." She blinked the tears from her eyes. They rolled on to her cheeks. "Schafer has what he wants now. He has found it."
"Found what?" Reevel asked.
She looked up at him through bloodshot eyes. "I don't know. He says he will leave soon."
There was a rustle of movement and Callum pushed himself between Reevel and Marker. He knelt before Maura and even in her weakness she could see the emptiness in his heart.
"Tell me, is Ailie dead?" he asked her.
It brought the sad memory rushing back and she remembered it with pain how Ailie had gone. She couldn't look into Callum's eyes. "Yes," she whispered. "They shot her. She was trying to escape from the catcher."
Callum drew in a deep breath and continued to stare at Maura. "My lass never doubted you, Maura," he said eventually. "She always had a great love for you. God knows I tried to kill that love because I blamed all this on you." He lifted his head a little. "But she never doubted you." There were tears in his eyes. Maura knew how much it cost Callum in pride to say it.
She reached forward and took his hand. The movement hurt and she flinched, but the need for Callum's friendship dulled the pain a little and she held his hand tight.
"Thank you Callum," she said. "Ailie would have wanted that."
Doctor Kristen moved in and unlocked their hands. He pushed Maura gently back against the wall. "You must rest now please. You have been through a great ordeal." He motioned the others away.
Callum shook his head. "I'll sit with her doctor, I'll not talk."
So the doctor left them sitting together. Callum looked self-conscious and awkward. To have Ailie’s father sitting beside Maura should have satisfied the doctor knowing what small comfort it could bring to her, but he was very anxious: so extensively had she been beaten that he had no way of knowing how seriously she had been hurt, and no way of assessing her internal injuries But in his heart he knew that she would probably die from them.
TEN
Billy made a long, slow detour, coming perilously close to the edge of the high, craggy cliffs to reach
the big house. The wind swept up the slopes and pulled at him mercilessly, buffeting him as he scrambled across the uneven ground.
He approached the house cautiously, often pausing for long spells when he thought he detected movement in the shadows. Out here on the far, eastern side of the island he felt utterly alone, like the last man on earth. It was uncanny: like there was no-one else on the island except him.
He reached Anderson’s house and walked up the path. He peered through the windows but could see nobody through the panes of glass nor hear movement inside. He tried to open the windows, but none yielded to his insistent pressure. A streak of lightning flickered out at sea. It startled him and he looked round quickly. He heard the thunder boom in the distance and could see the rainstorm chasing the dark columns of heavy cloud into the Atlantic.
He went up to the front door and pushed it open. He hadn’t expected that. He stepped inside and pulled the door closed behind him. He could see the place had been wrecked; nothing had been left untouched. He walked from room to room, shaken by the scale of damage. He had seen the damage done to the other homes, but somehow this was different; it was a direct assault on all the island had stood for. Their heritage' had been brutalised by this wanton savagery.
He went into the radio room but knew what he would find. What had been the radio was unrecognisable. He shook his head. He was disappointed but not surprised. He turned away and went downstairs. He stopped in the hallway trying to convince himself that what he was about to do was right. His plan to set fire to the house was quite straightforward but he still had terrible misgivings about doing it. He pushed them to the back of his mind and plunged into the task of liberally soaking the furniture with the contents of the oil lamps, all of which had been left standing.
When he had finished he crossed himself and took a box of matches from his coat pocket. He struck one of the matches and held it beneath a roll of paper he was holding in his hand. He went from the top of the house, setting fire to each room, working down to the bottom and the beautifully decorated hall. He could hear the crackle of the spreading flames and shook his head in remorse. Then he tossed the flaming bundle towards the stairs and walked away from the burning house.
*
Schafer reached that point up the side of Blue Whale Mountain where the stream appeared from its subterranean course. He stopped and arched his back, rubbing the stiffness from it. Kretschmer came up behind him, his boots rattling noisily on the rocky surface.
Schafer pointed. "It's up there. You can see the marks where the water slows to a trickle."
Kretschmer followed the pointing finger. The cave was dearly visible about fifty feet above the stream opening. Getting to it would be no more difficult than their climb so far. He would have preferred to rest though; his wound was sore and he was suffering from the bruising.
"I hope we find it, Hauptsturmführer," he complained. "Then we can leave this damn island."
Schafer smiled, he was in high spirits. "We will Kretschmer, we will."
He pushed on, leaning forward to use his hands on the tufts of coarse grass that grew up through the scree. Although the sun had not been visible all day, it was still warm and they sweated freely from the strain of the climb. Schafer reached the cave and did not hesitate; he went straight in. The entrance was low and he had to stoop. The floor beneath him was smooth and sloped downwards towards the inside of the cave. He moved further in and was immediately aware of a sudden sharp decline in the floor. He looked down and could see where it sloped into the pipe opening. It would have been possible to step into the opening if the cave had been in complete darkness, although the hole was too small for an adult to slip through. He could see why the children were forbidden to come up here: one slip and a child would disappear completely.
He spoke to Kretschmer over his shoulder. "The water comes up through here," he said, pointing at the pipe. "It's unlikely that Ziegel would have concealed the papers down there. Do you have the torch?"
Kretschmer unclipped the torch from his belt and handed it to him. Schafer took it and started scanning the walls.
"A pocket sir, there." Kretschmer reached up to a long slit in the cave wall.
Schafer pushed the torch towards him, forcing him to take it back. He had no intention of being robbed of this priceless moment. He reached into the opening and felt the pool of cold water there. He reached further, plunging his arm well into the water, moving his fingers, searching for the packet.
Suddenly he touched it and he felt a thrill of anticipation as he closed his hand round the curved edges of the oilskin box. He pulled it up, reaching in with his other hand to lift it clear. Kretschmer could see the triumphant look on his face, and knew they had succeeded. Schafer held the package almost in awe. He felt like Jason of Greek legend: this was his golden fleece. He walked out into the daylight and sat on the ledge. Kretschmer sat beside him and watched as he carefully unwrapped the waterproof cover from the box.
"I killed a man for this," Schafer said. "It seemed a reasonable price at the time." He recalled his time in England and the incredible journey, full of hazards and dangers as he made his way up to the north coast of Scotland to meet the submarine. That damned submarine he thought as he drew some single sheets of paper from the box and studied them. He had a smile on his face. "Yes, yes." He was satisfied. He always worried that Ziegel might have removed the papers or swopped them.
"They are the ones, sir?" Kretschmer asked.
Schafer nodded and put them back in the box. "The price has gone up. Including Ziegel, six men have died." He carefully retied the waterproof wrapping. "War is inflationary," he mused. "But we pay in lives as well as in cash."
As he spoke he saw the first signs of smoke spiralling up on the far side of the island. His expression changed and he swore. Kretschmer saw the smoke too and his heart sank.
"You searched it. What happened?" Schafer asked.
Naturally Kretschmer didn't know, but he was hardly likely to persuade Schafer of that. As far as his superior officer was concerned he was the last person to have been in the house and was in some way responsible for the fire.
"I don't know, Hauptsturmführer," he answered lamely.
"We must hope that Leutnant Brenneke has seen it," Schafer said, dragging his eyes away from Kretschmer and back to the smoke. "Before the inquisitive British do." He held the waterproof package up. "The price has gone high enough, now it must stop." He got up and signalled Kretschmer to follow. "We'll get straight back to the Nordcaper and leave this damn island for good."
*
Billy went eastwards to avoid any of Schafer's men who might be hurrying up from Mullach Bay to fight the fire. He moved up the coastline, climbing high above the Atlantic where the guillemots and fulmars plunged and weaved. He listened to the familiar cry of the gulls and felt at home in the environment. His spirits were high. It was as though a great weight had been lifted from him.
He stopped and looked back at the smoke, agonising over the loss of the big house, but revelling in this strike at the Germans. The smoke climbed high in dark, cotton wool columns like a giant signal pyre; signalling their distress across the ocean, beckoning to all who might be watching. He hoped the old man would be watching too from Wrath Kyle. He allowed himself a smile and pressed on.
Billy hoped that most of Schafer's men would be summoned to fight the fire, if indeed the German considered it important enough. He hoped this could leave the Nordcaper lightly guarded, and might present an opportunity for him to scramble on board unseen.
He worked his way up to the northern point of Mullach Bay and paused at the top of the cliff. Below him, like a cluster of toy buildings, he could see the whaling station. The Nordcaper looked small enough to be plucked from the water as she lay quietly against the quayside. The flensing plane was clearly visible, like a broad plank of concrete, contrasting against the black water of the bay.
He scanned the whaling station quickly with the binoculars for signs of activ
ity, but there was none. Then he shifted to the catcher and studied it carefully, using an exposed rock to steady his hand. He could see one guard lounging awkwardly beneath a jury-rigged canvas. In the shadow Billy almost missed him, but the man's natural movement had caught his eye. He moved the glasses along the length of the catcher but saw nothing else that bothered him.
Then he saw the rope, and a spasm shot through him so that his whole body jumped involuntarily. The rope! It hung from the sheave and announced Ailie's presence so clearly and so vividly. He didn't understand. His mother claimed she had seen his love drown, but he knew now it could not have happened. Ailie was alive!
He wanted to dance a jig on the high cliff and tell everybody she was well, and cock a snook at the Germans. He wanted to laugh in their faces. Instead he cried. Alone on that rocky ground he allowed sublime relief to claim him and he gave in to a paroxysm of tears.
It wasn't just the sight of the rope and the belief that somehow Ailie had survived, which caused Billy to surrender to his feelings; it was knowing that even in the darkness of their adversity, small lights were flickering to pierce the gloom. Now it seemed that at last they were fighting back.
He cuffed his tears away and looked back down into Mullach Bay. The quickest route was down the cliff. It wasn’t too formidable a task because of the craggy nature of the rock: it offered numerous hand and footholds and many, many resting places.
As a young boy Billy had climbed most of the easier cliff faces round the island and had tackled some of the more difficult faces. This one presented no real test to his talents, and there was little risk of him being seen. There were several chimneys to consider and Billy could see one which would conceal him for almost the entire descent. These were three sided openings in the cliff face down which any energetic boy could scramble. The chimney he was looking at opened outwards towards the north east and curved inwards only at its last twenty feet or so, by which time he would be descending behind the whaling station.
Shadow Of The Wolf Page 16