The Mafia Emblem

by Michael Hillier

  - 41 -

  Another wave surged into the little cove, sloshing round the rocks and saturating him nearly to the waist. Ben cursed. He was going to get very cold without a wet suit and there was no chance that they could change before they started the climb. The rocks here at the sea’s edge were incredibly slippery. In the darkness it was difficult to make out where the slime and seaweed ended and the dry rock began.

  He could hear the scrabbling of Francesca’s feet no more than five yards ahead of him but he couldn’t see her in the pitch blackness. She was dressed overall in black and her dark hair was coiled on her head, making her nearly invisible from behind.

  Of course he should have been leading the way, since he was the experienced climber. However he had at last discovered that the girl had a weakness – a tendency to seasickness. She had been so desperate to get out of the lurching, swooping little boat that he had let her go first. Then she made a desperate leap to get ashore, risking a ducking and broken limbs to escape a queasy stomach. Ben had shaken hands with the boatman Donna had recruited and followed more carefully.

  It was a night for taking care. The cold, blustery wind, which had got up from the south during the evening, and which had rolled a mantle of glowering clouds across the sky, was going to make the climb very uncomfortable. They would have to be more careful about finding their foot- and hand-holds. However the rough weather offered some compensation for the additional discomfort it brought. There would be a lot more noise around the villa at the top of the cliffs. Up there the bushes and trees would be swaying and rustling, doors and shutters would be rattling and creaking, shadows would flit around. The enthusiasm of the guards would be lessened by the chill wind which carried the occasional squall of rain - and all that would be a help to them.

  “Have you found the ledge yet?” he asked her in a hoarse whisper.

  “I think it’s just above me, but I can’t find a way on to it.”

  “Wait just where you are until I get to you. Remember what I told you - one slip now could land you with a broken leg. You won’t be much help to me if you do that.”

  Ben shifted the rucksack containing their climbing gear higher onto his shoulders to balance himself better and started to move forward – feeling his way rather than seeing it. As he went he tried to memorise the route which he had studied so closely from the boat during the afternoon.

  At that time the boatman from Positano had brought them round here on what they hoped would appear to be a casual fishing trip. While the others had trailed rods and lines over the side, Ben had searched the headland thoroughly with his binoculars, looking for the best means of access to the cliff-top eyrie of Mancino Vitelli. Of course the easiest way up was the long zigzag staircase cut into the ravine on the west side. This led down to a tiny cove where they could easily have been landed in the lee of the boathouse. However the steps were protected at the top and bottom by high stone walls topped by barbed wire. The walls were pierced only by timber doors which appeared to be new and strong. He could also see that there were lights cut into the rock walls all the way down the steps. These would probably be switched on at night. He judged that there would be little chance of getting up that way unobserved.

  The cliffs all around the promontory were never less than a hundred and eighty feet high. They were formed of old and often crumbling limestone. They had been much weathered by winter storms and were patched with trailing clumps of vegetation. The problem on a surface like that was not the shortage of handholds, but the unstable nature of the rock. Ben knew from past experience that the surface would be fragile and friable. Whole boulders could break off quite easily when a person’s weight was put upon them. You didn’t have to be very clever to envisage what would happen if a disaster like that occurred in the middle of the climb. They just had to find a more protected route.

  From his observations the only place which appeared to offer any real possibility of a safe ascent was a large fissure on the eastern side near the root of the promontory. Ben had asked the boatman to take them closer to that area and he had spent a lot of time studying it carefully. It was deep enough to provide protection and support on both sides during the climb. And there were several useful ledges. The only problem was that the fissure narrowed as it rose up the cliff and ran out completely when it was approximately thirty feet below where the eastern wall of the house seemed to almost overhang the cliff. When they reached the top of the crack it would be necessary to carry out an exposed traverse on an almost vertical rock face to reach the middle terrace. At a height of a hundred and seventy feet directly above the sea that was going to need nerves of steel which Ben wasn’t sure that he still possessed.

  However, when he had discussed it with the others this afternoon, there had seemed to be no better alternative. Now the two of them had to test the theory. They would be in the dark, swept by the occasional shower, and trying to feel their way up with wet rock beneath their hands.

  After a couple of minutes scrambling Ben reached Francesca. She was still stuck below the first ledge. It was about six feet above her head and she had the beginner’s worries about taking her feet off solid rock without any large hand-holds to take her weight.

  “Wait there a minute while I get up,” he told her. “Then I’ll reach down to give you a hand.”

  “Damn!” She was nearly crying with frustration. “I have only been climbing for about five minutes and I’m stuck already.”

  “You’ve not started yet. This is where the walking stops and the climbing begins.” Ben spoke flippantly to disguise the queasy sensation in his own stomach. Would he still be able to do it himself?

  Thrusting that thought behind him he took off his back-pack and heaved it onto the ledge above his head. Then he felt about until he was able to find suitable hand-holds. It took him only a few minutes to get up. He still found it surprisingly easy. But how would he feel when he had a hundred feet of clear space beneath him? Heights had never worried him in the past, but now he wasn’t so sure.

  He lay flat on his stomach and reached down to her. He showed her where the hand- and foot-holds were and reminded her how to keep her hips close to the rock while she leaned out. Then he took a grip on the collar of her anorak as she came up to give her confidence.

  When he had her safely settled on the ledge he opened the back-pack and showed her again how to put on the harness and straps and fit the other items of equipment. He explained the use of each one to her for about the fifth time as she fitted them on.

  “Actually you’re mainly carrying this stuff as spares in case I run out. Since I shall be leading, most of it will be fixed before you get there.”

  When they were kitted out, Ben folded up the back-pack and tucked it away in a crack in the rock. He had no idea when he might return to collect Toni’s equipment again.

  “Now – are you ready?”

  Francesca nodded.

  “Remember that we have to keep as quiet as possible. So, no calling out unless it’s absolutely essential. Also remember to test each hand- or foot-hold with your full weight before you let go of your other holds. That way you’ll never get caught out.”

  He showed her again how to tie the ropes to her harness so that they wouldn’t slip loose by mistake but could be quickly released in an emergency. “When I want more rope I’ll give you a jerk like this. If you want me to stop for some reason you give me a jerk. If it’s OK to go on again, give two jerks. When I want you to start climbing behind me I’ll give you two jerks. Three jerks from either of us means there is a problem. If I give you three jerks you must release yourself from the climbing rope as I’ve shown you, tie the safety rope to the nearest secure point and get down the cliff as quickly as you can.”

  Her voice was low but insistent. “We are not to go back.”

  He could imagine the set expression on her face and it made him grin. Otherwise he ignored her outburst.

  He pointed to the equipment dangling from her belt. “I’ve told
you that these funny-shaped things are called nuts or chocks. What I’ll try to do is find a big enough crack and fit them in so that the sides pull against the rock and grip it tightly. I’ve shown you how to tie a non-slip knot on the end of the rope. Funnily enough we call them Italian loops. Otherwise it’ll be free climbing for both of us, although I’ll keep you on a tight rope to give you confidence.”

  He didn’t really doubt her self-confidence. It was his own nerve that he doubted. He didn’t know why he reached out and squeezed her hand. “Do you still want to come?”

  He felt an answering pressure from her, but she said nothing. He couldn’t really judge her feelings. Probably she wasn’t too happy, knowing she was climbing with a man who was trying to regain his lost courage. But it was no good thinking of that. With a sudden movement he turned away.

  “Let’s get started,” he murmured.