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Ben began to edge along the rough and rapidly narrowing ledge. He scrambled over a couple of low boulders and moved into the fissure. Now he could feel the palms of his hands turning greasy with sweat and his heart-beat beginning to accelerate. He tried to tell himself that this always happened at the start of a climb, but he wasn’t convinced. He used to be able to do climbs like this with his eyes closed. But his memory kept taking him back to the sight he had seen as he was lowered from the Brow of the Devil.
He could once again see in minutest detail the picture of Carlos’ body dangling, swinging on the end of the climbing rope. It was doubled up in the middle and looked as though it had been snapped in half, but the clothing was holding it together. That picture had returned to haunt him many times in the last two long years. And this would be the first time that his feet had been on vertical rock since that terrible night. He did not want young Francesca to be his next similar sight.
Somehow his confidence wasn’t helped by the awkward little lump in the small of his back. Just before they had left Donna had taken him on one side and handed him a little canvas bag. When he opened it and peered inside he found it contained a small handgun.
She winked. “Just in case you need it.”
“Where did you get this?” he asked suspiciously.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Oh, you know us Americans – keen on personal security.”
“But isn’t it illegal?”
“Not as illegal as throwing knives at people.” She looked straight up into his eyes in a disconcerting way. “Look here Ben, these guys aren’t pussy-footing around. If you come face to face with one of ‘em in this here Villa Rafallo, you’re likely to wind up dead.” She tapped the leather holster. “This may even things up a bit.”
“But I don’t want to kill anybody.”
“You ain’t gonna kill no-one with this little pop-shooter unless you hit ‘em plumb in the head or the heart. Remember to aim low for their belly. That won’t kill ‘em but it’ll sure hurt ‘em a lot.” She patted him on the arm.
“I don’t know,” said Ben, doubtfully taking the thing in his hand. “I’ve never shot anyone before.”
“Just take it for my sake,” she cajoled. “Call it a little insurance policy. It’d make me feel a lot happier.”
“It’ll get in the way when I’m climbing. I don’t want the bloody thing to go off and hit me in the foot or something.”
Donna chuckled. “I’ve thought about that too. You should know it can’t hurt anyone unless the safety catch is off.” She took the bag back and turned it over. “Also I’ve sewed these two tabs on the back. If you take your belt off, it’ll loop through them and tuck down inside your waist-band without being too uncomfortable. It’s so small you can hardly see the bump it makes.”
They tried it and, to Ben’s surprise, it worked all right.
“There – it hardly makes any lump at all. Can you reach back and get it?”
He tried as she asked, lifting his loose sweater and slipping his hand into the bag without any difficulty.
“I think that’ll work OK,” she said. “Nobody’ll know a thing about it unless you need to use it.”
Ben still wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea or not. It seemed to make the whole matter far more serious. But he couldn’t cause a fuss about it once he had it on. And, as Donna had said, what had he to lose?
Nevertheless, it now felt uncomfortable. He wondered again how Donna had come by the gun. She couldn’t have carried it in through even the second-rate Naples airport security. He should have asked her more questions about it. Somehow the little thing seemed to add to the fear and foreboding which he felt. He smiled grimly to himself. He could just imagine what Francesca was thinking as he hesitated there, rubbing the small of his back and thinking fearfully of his previous climb.
With an effort he tore his mind away from his memories of the past. He thrust his hand into the powder bag at his waist, generously rubbing talcum into his sweating palms and between the greasy fingers. What he must do was concentrate on technique – that was the thing. The rock here was damp but not slippery. As long as he kept his hands dry the grip would be easy.
He put his right hand into the fissure as far as he could push it. Then he clenched and balled it into a fist, squeezing it tight. He’d taped nthye back of his hands but they still seemed very soft. How would his body stand up to a real climb?
Forget about that. Reach up two feet. Feel for the crack. Left hand in. Same procedure. Bring up the right foot and ease it into the gap. Foot in, twist and arch to grip. Step up two feet and repeat with the left foot. Now he was off the ground. Release the right hand. Reach up two feet and start again. After a two-year interval he was climbing again.
It was no problem! He could still do it!
He went quickly up the first twenty feet and then paused. The perspiration broke out on his forehead and the mists of fear closed in again behind his eyes.
Don’t look down. Must keep climbing. Don’t give fear a chance.
He started off again. By the time he was fifty feet up, the fissure had started to broaden out so that he was beginning to lose his grip. But here he found a crack big enough to put in a chock. He was twice as careful as he would have been in the past to make sure that it had the best possible grip and there was no chance of it slipping. He suppressed a grim little chuckle at the care he was taking. Then he moved up another two feet and put in another one just above his head. He told himself that was for Francesca and he would remove it later on. He put a krab into the upper one and was ready to move up. Then he gave two jerks to Francesca to get her started.
He leaned out to watch her progress. It took her a long time to get up to him. This was difficult climbing for her. Her hands weren’t big enough. It was true that women were often better on open rock work, but they couldn’t do the heavy hand work like this.
He kept the climbing rope tight to give her plenty of support and encouragement. But it must have taken her four times as long as an experienced climber to get up the fifty feet of rough cliff face. She finally made it, puffing and blowing, and rested on the ropes just below the nut.
“There you are,” he said. “That’s your first pitch, and you didn’t do too badly at all.”
She managed a little smile but didn’t have the breath to answer.
“You’ve got the usual beginner’s problem of trying to hug the rock too closely because you haven’t got confidence in your hands. Remember to hang your bottom out further and keep your knees in. I won’t let you fall.” He looked at his watch. “Well, it’s after two thirty, so I’d better get a move on. We’ve less than five hours till dawn.”
He adjusted the ropes, deciding to leave the second chock in position for Francesca to rest on. Then he was off.
Now it was a question of hand-holds. Feel and pull your way. In the darkness he couldn’t see to reconnoitre ahead. So he frequently had to retrace his movements. The first nagging worry about time began to seep into the back of his mind.
He came to a good fifteen foot crack between the blocks. Here he could use the flat of his hand and arch his fingers for grip. His progress improved. At the top it ran out into a ledge. It was not enough to stand on but, he could hook his elbow over to obtain some respite. He paused to relax his muscles in sequence and follow a pattern of breathing to build up the oxygen level in his blood again.
“Damn it,” he thought. “I’m getting soft. I could easily have made this two years ago.”
He surveyed the rock ahead. It was sheer in front of him. He was about six feet away from the fissure which seemed to be narrowing again. So he decided that was the best route. He was too exposed at the moment to help Francesca up the next stage.
He moved along the ledge, carrying his weight on his hands and just using his feet for friction. This was tiring work. Of course the ledge ran out two feet before he reached the crevice and he had a difficult thirty seconds scrabbling aro
und, trying to get a grip for his right foot. But then he was away again.
After a few more feet he rested and put in his last two chocks. Francesca was carrying two which he could use at either end of the traverse. Then he pulled in the ropes and secured them.
He double jerked back to her and watched her start off. This was quite a short pitch (barely forty feet) but she had much more of a struggle. Despite his instructions to follow exactly where he had gone, she tried to cut a couple of corners in her haste and got into terrible trouble. Ben decided that he had to abandon silence and call down to her as quietly as he could.
“You’ll have to retrace your moves to the little flake on your left and come up over the top of it instead of trying to get past below.”
There followed five minutes of sweating, scrambling effort from Francesca.
“Good. Now come straight up towards me for ten feet - er - three metres. That’s right – along that row of little knobs.”
She was doing her best to follow his instructions now. She already knew that time was important.
“Now – take that crack half a metre to your left. That’s the one. Then at the top you’ll follow the ledge. I can help you from there.”
At last she made it. He almost had to drag her over the last bit. He checked his watch. She had spent nearly an hour struggling up the last forty feet.
The Mafia Emblem Page 42