‘Free those poor bastards in “the factory”.’
Any other sensible intelligence officer would have baulked at the increased risk. It wasn’t a smart move. The boys were in a terrible state, mentally and physically. They could behave in an entirely unpredictable manner, yet Tallis knew that unless Darke had changed inordinately over the years, it would be hard for him to ignore their plight. Like he’d said, Think I enjoy it?
Darke let out a breath. They both knew that with Sultan dead and the remaining men diverted to keeping watch on the south, it was relatively easy to walk in and free them. But then what?
‘You mean we take them with us?’ Darke said, shaking his head.
‘Give them a sporting chance.’
‘No such thing. Not here. If we free them we take them. Frankly, it can’t be done.’
‘Look, I know it’s difficult, but—’
‘They’re collateral damage,’ Darke said, edge in his voice. ‘Not nice, but that’s the reality.’
Tallis tried a different tack. ‘That Chechen lad you had freed from the zindan.’
‘What about him?’
‘You showed compassion.’
Darke’s mouth twisted into a sly smile. ‘I displayed pragmatism. We’re chronically short of men to fight. No point in completely breaking the boy’s spirit.’
Tallis studied his old friend, wondering if Darke had been too long in the field. If somewhere along the line he’d detached morally. ‘Then I’ll take my chances alone,’ Tallis said, making to leave. Darke grabbed his arm, stared into his eyes. Tallis felt an inexplicable chill.
‘You’ll take responsibility for them?’ Darke dug his fingers into the sinews in Tallis’s arm to make the point.
‘Yes,’ Tallis said, unflinching.
‘Alright,’ Darke said, releasing him. ‘Let’s do it.’
As predicted, the area outside the ‘factory’ was unmanned. Darke slipped inside first, followed by Tallis. As soon as they entered, the boys stirred. Tallis immediately spoke to them in Russian, telling them they had to be quiet if they wanted to live. Three empty pairs of eyes fixed on him. He then told them that they were to be rescued. All three nodded, their expressions a mixture of disbelief and steely hope. No hurrahs, no howls of relief or joy. They were too far gone for that. Darke reached for the key to unlock their padlocks while Tallis kept a watchful eye for movements outside.
Within minutes, Darke was cursing softly. ‘This one’s too weak to travel.’ Tallis turned to examine the boy, whose name was Dmitri. He looked dreadful. Held the longest, according to Darke, Dmitri had no fingers on his left hand, the more recent wounds red and open. His body was in a pitiful condition and his cheekbones stuck out at such angles the skin seemed as if it might break. He had a dark gush of hair that seemed to sprout from the top of his head like a coconut. His dried-up features and protruding eyes reminded Tallis of a tiny monkey.
‘We can’t leave him,’ Tallis said, meeting the boy’s pleading gaze. ‘They’ll crucify him.’ Sadly, it was more than a simple figure of speech, he thought.
Darke exchanged a glance with Tallis, the cool pragmatism in his expression indicating that it would be simple enough to dispatch the boy. One quick twist of the neck should do the trick.
Tallis shook his head. ‘Here,’ he said, hoisting the boy up onto his shoulder. ‘I’ll carry him.’ He was as a light as a puff of wind. The memory of Ruslan on his back flashed through his mind.
‘Madness,’ Darke muttered, grabbing a couple of iron bars that had been used to beat them with, which he now handed to the other two. ‘Only use them if you’re under attack,’ he warned, not that either of them looked strong enough to wield a stick between them. ‘Try anything smart and I’ll kill you,’ he added, casting another sour glance in Tallis’s direction.
They left in single formation, Darke leading the way, the other two lads, Sergei and Pyotr, limping behind him, Tallis bringing up the rear. They were heading for the eastern side of the compound, the area that housed the cemetery, the only place that wasn’t mined at the border. It was, however, fenced with a concertina of barbed wire unsecured to the ground to deter intruders coming in rather than people going out.
Darke signalled silently for them to stop. After double-checking the fence for booby-traps, he got down on the ground, lying on his back, and lifted the bottom layer of wire with his Kalashnikov, wriggling underneath and rolling down a slight incline on the other side. One by one, the others crossed, the lads using their iron bars to protect themselves. To get Dmitri through, Tallis had to virtually dig a hollow in the ground and roll him underneath, after which he took the Dragunov from his back, using it to pin back the wire, as Darke had done, and edged his way through, taking care to fill in the earth and let the wire bounce back normally into its former position. From there they dropped down onto a rocky path, the descent sheer and twisting. Unaccustomed to the terrain and with no light to guide him, the night felt like a razor, at any moment threatening to slash him across the face and plunge him and his cargo several hundred feet down the mountainside.
On they scrambled, down rock and shale and grassy slope, the lads slipping and sliding in front, constantly terrified of making too much noise until, miraculously, Darke pointed to an opening large enough for a man to crawl into.
‘That’s it?’ Tallis hissed. He had a sudden overwhelming, crushing sensation of claustrophobia. He could do pretty much anything out in the open, but underground was a different matter entirely. No wonder he’d not made it into the Special Forces, he thought. Holes in the ground were for badgers and foxes, not human beings.
‘It’s bigger inside,’ Darke assured him, going first, disappearing from view. The two lads followed. Now that they were free, they both seemed to have uncovered previously unmined reserves of energy. Tallis guessed this pointed up the difference between a fifteen-year-old hostage and a thirty-five-year-old.
Tallis helped Dmitri through the gap where Darke was waiting to take hold of him then glanced up once into the starless night, wondering if it would be his last vision. Something creaked above his head. He looked and saw nothing except impenetrable darkness then, taking a deep breath, ducked inside where he was met by a gust of cold, damp and musty air. Torchlight perforated the dark, revealing a chamber and a track running down through it that appeared to twist away.
‘We’ll rest here for five,’ Darke said, squatting, taking a piece of cooked lamb from his rucksack, dividing it up carefully and handing it round, the two more able-bodied boys falling on it ravenously. Both were so skinny it was, at first, hard to tell them apart. Sergei, blond, looked as though someone had put his hair on the wrong way round: long at the front, short at the back. Pyotr, Tallis recognised, was the lad who’d approached him when Sultan had showed him the sights. His thin face and small eyes peeped out from beneath a heavy fringe. Out of the two, he seemed the most spirited.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Pyotr said, between mouthfuls.
‘Because we can,’ Darke growled.
‘You’re not really Chechen, are you? If you were, you’d have slit our throats by now.’
‘Shut up and eat.’
Tallis fed Dmitri, bit by bit, in the way a mother nurtured an ailing child, then tipped some of their precious water between his parched lips.
‘How on earth did you discover this place?’ Tallis said, looking around him.
‘By chance,’ Darke replied. ‘The Chechens are mythically descended from the hero Turpalo-Nokhchuo.’
‘The Nokhchii,’ Pytor chipped in, chewing vigorously. ‘That’s what they call themselves.’
‘He’s right,’ Darke said, taking a swig of water. ‘The story goes that Turpalo dug a route through the mountains to bring his people to safety.’
‘But it’s a fairy-tale,’ Tallis said.
‘A fairy-tale with teeth.’ Darke grinned. ‘I’ve been through it several times. Nobody else knows of its existence.’
Tallis briefly turned.
Had he imagined the redistribution of air behind him, or was he sensing things that weren’t really there?
‘Right.’ Darke sprang to his feet. ‘Let’s get moving.’
Revived, Dmitri, with Tallis’s help, was now able to stand and walk unaided, fierce determination lighting his eyes.
‘Pretty narrow in places,’ Darke said, setting off at a fast pace, his shorter frame better able to negotiate the low headroom.
In spite of his initial misgivings, Tallis gazed in fascination. This was the stuff of smugglers and tales of fantasy. Tallis let the light glance off the damp walls. The chamber was about three metres high, two and a half across, the ground beneath his boots stony and steep. A childhood visit to the dungeons of Warwick Castle flitted through his mind as he made his slow descent through the tunnel, bracing at the change in the circulation of air. A weird sort of calm enveloped him the way it had done all those years ago when Graham had been leading him into God knew what. Unused to telescoping his body, he tried hard not to let the narrow space concern him. He was still within earshot of Graham and the lads, who had broken out of their locked-in states and were now talking freely, their voices echoing through the passage. It suddenly occurred to him that without Graham they were screwed. If he lost him down here, he’d never see daylight again. Tallis quickened his pace.
The tunnel oscillated. There was roughly enough headroom. In spite of his best efforts, what he disliked intensely was the proximity of the walls around him. Like in a nightmare, he felt as if they were closing in, the gap getting narrower, the ground underneath his feet more uneven. To quell his panic he pictured each step as bringing him nearer to freedom and light, bringing him nearer to Katya. An image of her beautiful face appeared in front of his eyes. He wondered if she was in danger, if the assault on the police station had led to total clampdown.
And then he remembered Ruslan and how much she’d loved him.
He continued his descent, swinging his torch from side to side, his eyes focused on Dmitri’s thin and bony back. The others were moving at quite a pace but Dmitri lagged behind, unable to keep up. Tallis wondered how far they had yet to travel.
They were in a different part now. The way had opened up a little so that Tallis could straighten his back. It smelt different, of vegetation, and there was the sound of water coming from somewhere. He only hoped to God Graham knew what he was doing, that they weren’t going to be suddenly swept away by an underground river or onto a ledge, waiting as the water swirled and lapped beneath their chins.
Tallis noticed that there were other tunnels, leading off. They looked less man-made as if it was a part of the mountain’s natural topography. He was about to ask Dmitri if he was OK when the boy suddenly let out a shout, clutched his side and pitched over. Tallis called to the others to wait, his voice strange and echoing to his own ears. There was no reply. The boy looked up at him, urgency in his eyes, his face pale and sweating. Something was terribly wrong. His breathing was coming in ragged gasps and there was blood on his teeth. Fuck, Tallis thought, he must have sustained some kind of internal injury, probably during a beating, then he looked and saw that there was fresh blood on his tattered shirt. In less than a second he realised that Dmitri had been stabbed. Fear, in all its twisted splendour, threatened to overwhelm him.
Tallis stood up straight, flashed his torchlight around the cavern. Immediately to his left, there was another tunnel. He let the beam drop to the ground. Fresh bootmarks in the earth, the soles leaving a less than defined impression. This was where the assailant had struck. And that meant Darke was wrong. He was not the only one who knew of the tunnel’s existence.
Furious, Tallis drew out his knife, fearing that to use a gun might start some kind of landslide, and headed down the track, the light from his torch bouncing off the rock-faced walls. Here the way was steep and slippery, the smell of dank water strong. He tracked for about fifty metres, cutting one way and then the reverse, one sharp corner after another. Without warning, he caught sight of a movement in black. Tallis lifted his weapon arm up as a figure darted out, knocking Tallis’s torch from his hand. He felt rather than saw the blade whip across his face. Fired up, Tallis lunged blindly, feeling his own blade connect with flesh and blood. An ear-piercing cry, like the scream of a fallen angel, rocketed around the stony walls, followed by the sound of running footsteps.
Shaken, Tallis fell back, searching blindly in the darkness for his torch, which had rolled less than a metre away. The cut to his face ran from his temple down to his chin and although it was painful and bleeding it didn’t feel especially deep.
Fast retracing his footsteps, he caught up with Dmitri and knelt down. The boy was hardly breathing and his pulse was weak and irregular. At once he saw Ruslan’s face superimposed, the expression smiling, his words silently mouthed. You travel alone. He knew then Dmitri was done for.
Tallis smiled and gently picked the lad up, holding him to his chest, told him things were cool, that they’d rest for a little while before moving on, that the others were waiting for him.
Raw to his bones, he laid the boy down, closed his eyes, and left him on his side, curled, his body in a natural hollow. The sides of the shaft were knotted with roots and pitted with holes where animals had tunnelled and made their homes. And now it would be Dmitri’s, Tallis thought, feeling a sudden momentary blinding despair.
He had to bend again now because of the reduced roof space. Not much but enough to produce an insane level of anxiety. It felt increasingly airless. The way seemed to be shortening, the shaft narrower. He travelled like this for almost an hour. Tallis wanted to call out, say something, but feared no answer. Something scurried over his foot. He dropped the beam, illuminating the earth, and saw a party of rats skittering away. Had to be a good sign. Then he realised he was lost.
Shit! He stayed for a moment, deliberating whether to continue or flee back the way he’d come. Except he didn’t know which way he’d come. He called out. No answer. He called again, astonished by the shake in his voice. Was this it? Had he taken a wrong turn, or was this what Darke had planned all along—to lead him to a lonely death?
Taking a deep breath, he willed himself to be calm and pressed on. At the back of his mind he wondered if there was a less obvious route, dark and unseen. The further he dropped the more insect life was apparent, worms and slugs mostly, and still narrower the space inside the shaft. The air was stale now, less circulated. He dropped down onto his haunches, flashed the torch around, letting the light play on the ground. How stupid of him. He should have done this before. That’s when he saw three sets of foot impressions. And they looked recent.
Steeling himself, body bent over, he followed the track, pushing forward in spite of the fact that the sides of the shaft were closing. Where the earth was disturbed and crumbled, old railway sleepers had been erected as protection from landslide. The thought that he could be buried alive hit him with all the savage precision of sudden impalement. He stopped dead, hyperventilating. Jesus Christ, what was happening to him? He wanted to run but there wasn’t even the room to turn around. He’d heard of potholers who’d got stuck because, in a tight corner, their muscles had swelled rather than constricted: raw fear superseding experience and skill. He peered ahead into the rank darkness, wondering if the next bend would deliver. And what choice did he have, he thought with an ironic smile, but to move forward?
Bit by bit, he inched ahead, his reward a sharp bend in the tunnel leading to light, an open chamber of rock and stone, and Graham Darke grinning from ear to ear.
‘What took you so long?’
Then he noticed that Tallis was alone and bleeding. The smile vanished. Their eyes met.
‘You stupid fucker,’ Tallis cursed, angry, relieved, despairing. ‘Somebody followed us, killed Dmitri and took a pop at me. I’ve wounded him but he managed to get away. How long before he raises the alarm?’
Sergei and Pyotr sat mute, looked at each other and cast their eyes to the ground.
‘Have something to drink,’ Darke said, icy cool. ‘Then we move on.’
Fear-fuelled speed aided their flight. Tallis could hear the sound of water, the ground beneath his feet giving way to pebble and slate. To walk upright was a welcome relief. The air felt and tasted cleaner. Not only could he hear water, he could see it, probably a tributary of the Argun, he supposed. Wasn’t deep. After coming through the mountain tunnel, they’d crossed several tracks in the open, dodging under culverts to cross roads, a risky procedure as many were mined. But the further away from the mountains, the safer Tallis felt, at least from the threat of reprisals. It was shortly after they passed through Shali that they spotted a Russian military transport vehicle, the trundling gait of the truck suggesting that the occupants were in no particular hurry. In roughly three minutes, Tallis estimated, it should pass the ditch in which they were all hiding. He looked across at Darke, who looked back, already reading his mind.
‘Journey’s end, lads,’ Darke said, ‘your time to say goodbye.’
Pyotr and Sergei exchanged looks, glanced back at the men who’d helped them escape. Both were incredulous. Tallis wondered if he’d find them later in a Moscow subway, off their faces on booze and drugs. It was Pyotr, the self-appointed spokesman, who answered for both of them. ‘We will say nothing but we won’t forget you,’ he said, grabbing Sergei by the arm. ‘Good luck,’ he cried.
‘Think they’ll turn us in?’ Tallis whispered as he watched the boys scramble out of the ditch and onto the road, waving their arms, shouting at the tops of their voices, the vehicle slowing.
‘Fuck knows,’ Darke said.
Tallis pulled out his Kurtz.
The truck pulled up. A sleek-looking officer got out, his weapon raised, suspicious at first then, as the boys gabbled their story, astounded. Calling to the driver, he asked the boys to repeat what they’d told him, which they did enthusiastically and with lots of hand gestures. They also told the officer that they were terrified of the rebels catching up with them.
Land of Ghosts Page 24
