Not that the house as such had much to recommend it. As a home, a dwelling place, it was just about as uncomfortable as possible, as dilapidated as it could be without actually falling down. The west side of the square – the side perched precariously on the cliff-top – and the south side were made up of fairly modern buildings of whitewashed stone and Parian granite, huddled together in the invariable fashion of houses in these island towns, flat-roofed to catch as much as possible of the winter rains. But the east side of the square, where they were, was made up of antiquated timber and turf houses, of the kind much more often found in remote mountain villages.
The beaten earth floor beneath his feet was hummocky, uneven, and the previous occupants had used one corner of it – obviously – for a variety of purposes, not least as a refuse dump. The ceiling was of rough-hewn, blackened beams, more or less covered with planks, these in turn being covered with a thick layer of trodden earth: from previous experience of such houses in the White Mountains, Mallory knew that the roof would leak like a sieve whenever the rain came on. Across one end of the room was a solid ledge some thirty inches high, a ledge that served, after the fashion of similar structures in Eskimo igloos, as bed, tables or settee as the occasion demanded. The room was completely bare of furniture.
Mallory started as someone touched him on the shoulder and turned round. Miller was behind him munching away steadily, the remains of a bottle of wine in his hand.
‘Better get some chow, boss,’ he advised. ‘I’ll take a gander through this hole from time to time.’
‘Right you are, Dusty. Thanks.’ Mallory moved gingerly towards the back of the room – it was almost pitch dark inside and they dared not risk a light – and felt his way till he brought up against the ledge. The tireless Andrea had gone through their provisions and prepared a meal of sorts – dried figs, honey, cheese, garlic sausages and pounded roast chestnuts. A horrible mixture, Mallory thought, but the best Andrea could do: besides he was too hungry, ravenously so, to worry about such niceties as the pleasing of his palate. And by the time he had washed it down with some of the local wine that Louki and Panayis had provided the previous day, the sweetly-resinous rawness of the drink had obliterated every other taste.
Carefully, shielding the match with his hand, Mallory lit a cigarette and began to explain for the first time his plan for entering the fortress. He did not have to bother lowering his voice – a couple of looms in the next house, one of the few occupied ones left on that side of the square, clacked incessantly throughout the evening. Mallory had a shrewd suspicion that this was more of Louki’s doing although it was difficult to see how he could have got word through to any of his friends. But Mallory was content to accept the situation as it was, to concentrate on making sure that the others understood his instructions.
Apparently they did, for there were no questions. For a few minutes the talk became general, the usually taciturn Casey Brown having the most to say, complaining bitterly about the food, the drink, his injured leg and the hardness of the bench where he wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink all night long. Mallory grinned to himself but said nothing; Casey Brown was definitely on the mend.
‘I reckon we’ve talked enough, gentlemen.’ Mallory slid off the bench and stretched himself. God, he was tired! ‘Our first and last chance to get a decent night’s sleep. Two hour watches – I’ll take the first.’
‘By yourself?’ It was Miller calling softly from the other end of the room. ‘Don’t you think we should share watches, boss? One for the front, one for the back. Besides, you know we’re all pretty well done up. One man by himself might fall asleep.’ He sounded so anxious that Mallory laughed.
‘Not a chance, Dusty. Each man will keep watch by the window there and if he falls asleep he’ll damn soon wake up when he hits the floor. And it’s because we’re so darned bushed that we can’t afford to have anyone lose sleep unnecessarily. Myself first, then you, then Panayis, then Casey, then Andrea.’
‘Yeah, I suppose that’ll be OK,’ Miller conceded grudgingly.
He put something hard and cold into his hand. Mallory recognised it at once – it was Miller’s most cherished possession, his silenced automatic.
‘Just so’s you can fill any nosy customers full of little holes without wakin’ the whole town.’ He ambled off to the back of the room, lit a cigarette, smoked it quietly for a few moments, then swung his legs up on the bench. Within five minutes everyone except the silently watchful man at the window was sound asleep.
Two or three minutes later Mallory jerked to unmoving attention as he heard a stealthy sound outside – from the back of the house, he thought. The clacking of the looms next door had stopped, and the house was very still. Again there came the noise, unmistakable this time, a gentle tapping at the door at the end of the passage that led from the back of the room.
‘Remain there, my Captain.’ It was Andrea’s soft murmur, and Mallory marvelled for the hundredth time at Andrea’s ability to rouse himself from the deepest of sleeps at the slightest alien sound: the violence of a thunderstorm would have left him undisturbed. ‘I will see to it. It must be Louki.’
It was Louki. The little man was panting, near exhaustion, but extraordinarily pleased with himself. Gratefully he drank the cup of wine that Andrea poured for him.
‘Damned glad to see you back again!’ Mallory said sincerely. ‘How did it go? Someone after you?’
Mallory could almost see him drawing himself up to his full height in the darkness.
‘As if any of those clumsy fools could see Louki, even on a moonlit night, far less catch him,’ he said indignantly. He paused to draw some deep breath. ‘No, no, Major, I knew you would be worried about me so I ran back all the way. Well, nearly all the way,’ he amended. ‘I am not so young as I was, Major Mallory.’
‘All the way from where?’ Mallory asked. He was glad of the darkness that hid his smile.
‘From Vygos. It is an old castle that the Franks built there many generations ago, about two miles from here along the coast road to the east.’ He paused to drink another mouthful of wine. ‘More than two miles, I would say – and I only walked twice, a minute at a time, on the way back.’ Mallory had the impression that Louki already regretted his momentary weakness in admitting that he was no longer a young man.
‘And what did you do there?’ Mallory asked.
‘I was thinking, after I left you,’ Louki answered indirectly. ‘Me, I am always thinking,’ he explained. ‘It is a habit of mine. I was thinking that when the soldiers who are looking for us out in the Devil’s Playground find out that the car is gone, they will know that we are no longer in that accursed place.’
‘Yes,’ Mallory agreed carefully. ‘Yes, they will know that.’
‘Then they will say to themselves, “Ha, those verdammt Englanders have little time left.” They will know that we will know that they have little hope of catching us in the island – Panayis and I, we know every rock and tree and path and cave. So all they can do is to make sure that we do not get into the town – they will block every road leading in, and tonight is our last chance to get in. You follow me?’ he asked anxiously.
‘I am trying very hard.’
‘But first’ – Louki spread his hands dramatically – ‘but first they will make sure we are not in the town. They would be fools to block the roads if we were already in the town. They must make sure we are not in the town. And so – the search. The very great search. With – how do you say? – the teeth-comb!’
Mallory nodded his head in slow understanding.
‘I’m afraid he’s right, Andrea.’
‘I, too, fear so,’ Andrea said unhappily. ‘We should have thought of this. But perhaps we could hide – the roof-tops or –’
‘With a teeth-comb, I said!’ Louki interrupted impatiently. ‘But all is well. I, Louki, have thought it all out. I can smell rain. There will be clouds over the moon before long, and it will be safe to move . . . You do not want to know wha
t I have done with the car, Major Mallory?’ Louki was enjoying himself immensely.
‘Forgotten all about it,’ Mallory confessed. ‘What did you do with the car?’
‘I left it in the courtyard of Vygos castle. Then I emptied all the petrol from the tank and poured it over the car. Then I struck a match.’
‘You did what?’ Mallory was incredulous.
‘I struck a match. I think I was standing too near the car, for I do not seem to have any eyebrows left.’ Louki sighed. ‘A pity – it was such a splendid machine.’ Then he brightened. ‘But before God, Major, it burned magnificently.’
Mallory stared at him.
‘Why on earth –?’
It is simple,’ Louki explained patiently. ‘By this time the men out in the Devil’s Playground must know that their car has been stolen. They see the fire. They hurry back to – how do you say?’
‘Investigate?’
‘So. Investigate. They wait till the fire dies down. They investigate again. No bodies, no bones in the car, so they search the castle. And what do they find?’
There was silence in the room.
‘Nothing!’ Louki said impatiently. ‘They find nothing. And then they search the countryside for half a mile around. And what do they find? Again nothing. So then they know that they have been fooled, and that we are in the town, and will come to search the town.’
‘With the teeth-comb,’ Mallory murmured.
‘With the teeth-comb. And what do they find?’ Louki paused, then hurried on before anyone could steal his thunder. ‘Once again, they will find nothing,’ he said triumphantly. ‘And why? For by then the rain will have come, the moon will have vanished, the explosives will be hidden – and we will be gone!’
‘Gone where?’ Mallory felt dazed.
‘Where but to Vygos castle, Major Mallory. Never while night follows day will they think to look for us there!’
Mallory looked at him in silence for long seconds without speaking, then turned to Andrea.
‘Captain Jensen’s only made one mistake so far,’ he murmured. ‘He picked the wrong man to lead this expedition. Not that it matters anyway. With Louki here on our side, how can we lose?’
Mallory lowered his rucksack gently to the earthen roof, straightened and peered up into the darkness, both hands shielding his eyes from the first drizzle of rain. Even from where they stood – on the crumbling roof of the house nearest the fortress on the east side of the square – the walls stretched fifteen, perhaps twenty feet above their heads; the wickedly out- and down-curving spikes that topped the wall were all but lost in the darkness.
‘There she is, Dusty,’ Mallory murmured. ‘Nothing to it.’
‘Nothin’ to it!’ Miller was horrified. ‘I’ve – I’ve gotta get over that?’
‘You’d have a ruddy hard time going through it,’ Mallory answered briefly. He grinned, clapped Miller on the back and prodded the rucksack at his feet. ‘We chuck this rope up, the hook catches, you shin smartly up –’
‘And bleed to death on those six strands of barbed wire,’ Miller interrupted. ‘Louki says they’re the biggest barbs he’s ever seen.’
‘We’ll use the tent for padding,’ Mallory said soothingly.
‘I have a very delicate skin, boss,’ Miller complained. ‘Nothin’ short of a spring mattress –’
‘Well, you’ve only an hour to find one,’ Mallory said indifferently. Louki had estimated that it would be at least an hour before the search party would clear the northern part of the town, give himself and Andrea a chance to begin a diversion. ‘Come on, let’s cache this stuff and get out of here. We’ll shove the rucksacks in this corner and cover ’em with earth. Take the rope out first, though; we’ll have no time to start undoing the packs when we get here.’
Miller dropped to his knees, hands fumbling with straps, then exclaimed in sudden annoyance.
‘This can’t be the pack,’ he muttered in disgust. Abruptly his voice changed. ‘Here, wait a minute, though.’
‘What’s up, Dusty?’
Miller didn’t answer immediately. For a few seconds his hands explored the contents of the pack, then he straightened.
‘The slow-burnin’ fuse, boss.’ His voice was blurred with anger, with a vicious anger that astonished Mallory. ‘It’s gone!’
‘What!’ Mallory stooped, began to search through the pack. ‘It can’t be, Dusty, it just can’t! Dammit to hell, man, you packed the stuff yourself!’
‘Sure I did, boss,’ Miller grated. ‘And then some crawlin’ bastard comes along behind my back and unpacks it again.’
‘Impossible!’ Mallory protested. ‘It’s just downright impossible, Dusty. You closed that rucksack – I saw you do it in the grove this morning – and Louki has had it all the time. And I’d trust Louki with my life.’
‘So would I, boss.’
‘Maybe we’re both wrong,’ Mallory went on quietly. ‘Maybe you did miss it out. We’re both helluva tired, Dusty.’
Miller looked at him queerly, said nothing for a moment, then began to swear again. ‘It’s my own fault, boss, my own damned fault.’
‘What do you mean, your own fault? Heavens above, man, I was there when . . .’ Mallory broke off, rose quickly to his feet and stared through the darkness at the south side of the square. A single shot had rung out there, the whiplash crack of a carbine followed the thin, high whine of a ricochet, and then silence.
Mallory stood quite still, hands clenched by his sides. Over ten minutes had passed since he and Miller had left Panayis to guide Andrea and Brown to the Castle Vygos – and they should have been well away from the square by this time. And almost certainly Louki wouldn’t be down there, Mallory’s instructions to him had been explicit – to hide the remainder of the TNT blocks in the roof and then wait there to lead himself and Miller to the keep. But something could have gone wrong, something could always go wrong. Or a trap, maybe a ruse. But what kind of trap?
The sudden off-beat stammering of a heavy machine-gun stilled his thoughts, and for a moment or two he was all eyes and straining ears. And then another, and lighter machine-gun, cut in, just for a few seconds: as abruptly as they had started, both guns died away, together. Mallory waited no longer.
‘Get the stuff together again,’ he whispered urgently. ‘We’re taking it with us. Something’s gone wrong.’ Within thirty seconds they had ropes and explosives back in their knapsacks, had strapped them on their backs and were on their way.
Bent almost double, careful to make no noise whatsoever they ran across the roof-tops towards the old house where they had hidden earlier in the evening, where they were now to rendezvous with Louki. Still running, they were only feet away from the house when they saw his shadowy figure rise up, only it wasn’t Louki. Mallory realised at once, for it was too tall for Louki and without breaking step he catapulted the horizontal driving weight of his 180 pounds at the unknown figure in a homicidal tackle, his shoulder catching the man just below the breast-bone, emptying every last particle of air from the man’s lungs with an explosive agonised whoosh. A second later both of Miller’s sinewy hands were clamped round the man’s neck, slowly choking him to death.
And he would have choked to death, neither of the two men were in any mind for half-measures, had not Mallory, prompted by some fugitive intuition, stooped low over the contorted face, the staring, protruding eyes, choked back a cry of sudden horror.
‘Dusty!’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘For God’s sake, stop! Let him go! It’s Panayis!’
Miller didn’t hear him. In the gloom his face was like stone, his head sunk farther and farther between hunching shoulders as he tightened his grip, strangling the Greek in a weird savage silence.
‘It’s Panayis, you bloody fool, Panayis!’ Mallory’s mouth was at the American’s ear, his hands clamped round the other’s wrists as he tried to drag him off Panayis’s throat. He could hear the muffled drumming of Panayis’s heels on the turf of the roof, tore at Miller’s wrists
with all his strength: twice before he had heard that sound as a man had died under Andrea’s great hands, and he knew with sudden certainty that Panayis would go the same way, and soon, if he didn’t make Miller understand. But all at once Miller understood, relaxed heavily, straightened up, still kneeling, hands hanging limply by his sides. Breathing deeply he stared down in silence at the man at his feet.
‘What the hell’s the matter with you?’ Mallory demanded softly. ‘Deaf or blind or both?’
‘Just one of those things, I guess.’ Miller rubbed the back of a hand across his forehead, his face empty of expression. ‘Sorry, boss, sorry.’
‘Why the hell apologise to me?’ Mallory looked away from him, looked down at Panayis: the Greek was sitting up now, hands massaging his bruised throat, sucking in long draughts of air in great, whooping gasps. ‘But maybe Panayis here might appreciate –’
‘Apologies can wait,’ Miller interrupted brusquely. ‘Ask him what’s happened to Louki.’
Mallory looked at him for a moment, made to reply, changed his mind, translated the question. He listened to Panayis’s halting answer – it obviously hurt him even to try to speak – and his mouth tightened in a hard, bitter line. Miller watched the fractional slump of the New Zealander’s shoulders, felt he could wait no longer.
‘Well, what is it, boss? Somethin’s happened to Louki, is that it?’
The Guns of Navarone Page 25
