No Mercy

by Forbes, Colin

  'Their maintenance is lousy,' he commented. 'Fortunately, we can follow them.'

  At the point where, near a side road, the marks disappeared he swung the Land Rover along the track Warden had mistakenly driven along. It had been another piece of luck. The marks continued along the side road, which was little more than a wide lane bordered on both sides with gorse hedge.

  In his rear-view mirror he saw Harry's vehicle close behind him, but not so close that it couldn't pull up if Tweed suddenly stopped. Tweed lowered his window and cold air flooded into the vehicle. Although now feeling very fresh, Paula welcomed its stimulus. She glanced at Tweed, whose expression was very grim.

  'You're hoping the Oran will be there, collecting that huge collection of missiles?'

  'Yes. Again, we need luck. At Park Crescent I phoned a marine expert, gave him enough data to make a calculation. If he got it right, tonight is when those missiles go on board. Again, we need a lot of luck.'

  'You said we're heading for Harmer's Head. That isn't where we found the landing stage.'

  'No, but it gives us the best viewing point where we can look down and see what - if anything - is happening.'

  'So what do we do then?'

  'I have no idea. I'll decide when we get there.'

  Earlier the freighter had arrived off the North Devon shore. Abdul had first signalled the agreed code - four flashes, followed by three, followed by the final four. The skipper then waited tensely on the bridge, staring at the mighty cliffs above the landing point.

  It was a relief when the same signal, the same sequence of flashes, was repeated from the coast. It was safe for him to steer his vessel into the difficult landing point. He steered through ninety degrees, heading for the shore.

  He then went down to the stern end of the bridge, looked down at his men crowded on deck. He shouted his orders.

  To encourage them he threatened to cut off their heads if they messed up.

  All of his men were on deck with the exception of those needed to attend to the engine room below decks.

  There was a small group waiting ashore with the large trucks carrying the missile cargo. They were the loaders, the men who had carried the missiles from the Dartmoor plant to their trucks.

  One man, the commander, spoke perfect English with a hint of an American twang. With an expertly created fake passport he passed as coming from the Lebanon. He had taken a military engineering course at a certain institution in Maryland. At the Dartmoor plant he had specified the materials needed to convert the conveyor belt from artillery-shell production to the system creating missiles.

  When the cargo had been loaded the empty trucks would be driven a short distance along the coast road. At this point the drivers would push them over the edge into the sea. Along this section of the coast Abdul had charts which showed that the sea plunged immediately into deep water. No trace of their operation would be left behind. They would then board the freighter.

  Tweed had reached the fork in the wide track. Warden had taken the left fork, which eventually landed them on the coast road. This time Tweed had taken the right fork where a signpost pointed to Harmer's Head.

  Proceeding along this road, he had driven slowly. A careful examination of Ordnance Survey maps in his London home had shown him a minor track leading off to the left -to Harmer's Head.

  He crawled, anxious not to miss the turning. Paula frowned, looked at him. His expression was one of extreme concentration. She began to worry.

  'Do you know where we are? We've passed the road Warden turned on to a little way back.'

  'I know. Now I'm looking for what will be a narrow lane turning off to our left. Doubt if we'll get a comforting signpost. We are really in the wilderness.'

  'I thought we'd been there for some time. Bleak stretches of scrubby moorland, a few rocks here and there, windblown gorse. I don't think anyone lives up here.'

  'Who would want to?'

  'Mind if I smoke a cigarette?' Marler called out from the back. 'This is like the end of the world.'

  'Go ahead,' Tweed answered automatically. 'I've got a window open.'

  Paula heard faint mechanical noises, twisted round to see what was causing them. Marler, an as yet unlit cigarette in his mouth, was checking the mechanism of his weapon. Seeing her watching, he plunged a hand into a pocket, brought out an object Paula recognized. Marler grinned.

  'An explosive bullet. Same type as blew Charmian's head into pulp at Stonehenge.'

  'Messy pulp,' she reminded him. 'I was the one who cleaned up the side of the megalith.'

  'And,' Marler said seriously, 'you were given that job to take your mind off the appalling experience you'd been through.'

  'Well it worked,' she said, staring back at him. 'Because he was such a beastly creature it didn't worry me at all getting rid of what was left of him . . . Stop! Turn left,' she shouted as she gazed through the windscreen.

  'I've seen it,' Tweed assured her. 'And there's a signpost. To Harmer's Head.'

  He signalled left to warn Harry behind him, then turned slowly into a narrow lane with a wall of beaten-down gorse on both sides. There was barely room for the Land Rover to squeak through. He just hoped the lane didn't narrow any more before they reached their objective.

  Paula switched on the radio after turning the volume down. A weather forecast was just beginning. A major storm was coming in from the southwest. Gales up to 80 m.p.h. The wind was already beating at the windscreen but so far no rain. As he turned yet another corner Tweed saw a slight rise ahead. He crawled over the top, braked. They had reached the summit. Harmer's Head, guardian of this point for over a hundred years, was less than fifty yards away.

  It was massive, as large and high as four detached houses merged together, the biggest chunk of granite Paula had ever seen. Observed from below, when they had looked up from the coast road, she'd had no idea of its immensity. It was roughly square in shape with one fairly flat side facing them. No sign of the sea yet. Harmer blotted out the view. Tweed crawled forward over barren turf, parked behind the rock. Harry followed his example, parking alongside.

  Marler dived out first, followed swiftly by Paula, while Tweed switched off the engine. The moon was still out, not yet masked by the armada of low black clouds sweeping in over the sea. Marler peered round one side of Harmer while Paula did the same thing from the other distant side as she was joined by Tweed.

  Harry was hauling out heavy bags containing his armoury with the help of Pete Nield. They staggered under the weight to the shelter of the rock. Paula was amazed by what she saw far below, using her monocular glass.

  Even from that distance the freighter looked huge. It was moored fairly close to the platform projecting a short way out from the road. A landing stage, railed, with wheels, connected it to the freighter from the mainland. Already the freighter was rising and falling as waves swept in from the sea.

  'It's not the right ship,' she gasped. 'The Oran had the Liberian flag flying, this one has the flag of Panama. And it's not the Oran - it's the Constantinel'

  'So the skipper is cunning,' Tweed commented, staring down through binoculars. 'The skipper has been cunning, changing the flag in the Atlantic and putting men over the side to paint out the original name and substitute Constantine, the name of a city in Algeria, up in the Atlas Mountains.'

  'But—' she began.

  'Don't argue,' he chided. 'Observe. The freighter we saw leaving the He des Oiseaux outside Marseilles had a large square dent in its port bow. So has the vessel down there. Must have hit a harbour wall somewhere. It is the same freighter.'

  'And it's going to put to sea soon,' she said. 'Look at the funnel.'

  She was right. Black smoke was floating out of the top, then was caught by the wind and described black convolutions as it was blown all over the place. She looked along the rock wall, saw Marler gesturing for them to come quickly.

  They rari towards him, under cover of Harmer. Behind them Harry had hooked the strap of a bag over his
shoulder, followed by Nield, who was similarly encumbered. Both hurried to join Marler.

  'A view straight down here,' Marler told them. 'A lot of activity. The crew are all Arabs, wearing headdresses. Loads of crates on deck. I think they've finished unloading. One crate's burst open, spilling missiles on the desk. Armed missiles. A careless lot, some of these Arabs.'

  He handed his binoculars to Paula. Tweed was staring down through his own pair. Harry dumped his cargo, took out a grenade, shook his head.

  'Don't know how we're going to get at that lot. They're too far away. What's that colossal boulder down there?'

  'Toppling Rock,' Tweed told him. 'A huge thing. They say if you lean against it the rock wobbles but never leaves its perch.'

  'Really?' Harry was fascinated. 'Must have a go . . .'

  He was off before Tweed could stop him, warn him no movement must be seen from the freighter. But Harry was smart. He crawled down a gully on his hands and knees, moving almost as fast as a rabbit. Paula, fascinated, watched him. Shielded by the rock, he stood up when he reached it, heaved his whole weight against its side. It began to move seaward. Paula's hand flew to her throat as it shifted a foot. Harry's expression was a picture. A look of disbelief mingled with fear. He jerked his body away from it. Then Toppling Rock settled back on the perch it had occupied for heaven knew how long.

  Paula wanted to burst into laughter. She rubbed a hand across her mouth to stop that happening. Tweed was still staring down through his binoculars. Marler, concealed close to Harmer, was scanning every single foot of the freighter through the telescopic sight of his Armalite.

  'All this weaponry and it's useless,' Harry called out in his frustration. 'Why the hell didn't I think to bring rocket launchers? They'd have reached the target.'

  'You did all you could,' Paula said, squeezing his arm.

  'There has to be a way,' Tweed persisted.

  'Tell me then,' said Newman.

  The storm clouds were very close but so far not a drop of rain had fallen. Their gloom didn't help the morale of the team. Tweed watched the landing gangway moving up and down with the swell of the increasingly turbulent sway.

  Marler's Armalite was suddenly very still. He stared hard at the telescopic sight. Had his eyes deceived him? No, they hadn't. He checked again, adjusted the focus slightly.

  Aboard the freighter Abdul had slipped inside the chart room. He was checking the devious route he must take to reach the small port in Angora where he would take his cargo. They were well organized at the other end of his voyage.

  Trucks would be waiting at the port. The missiles would be transferred to the trucks. The Constantine would dock after dark. The transfer to the trucks would be completed well before dawn came.

  It had even been arranged that the trucks would leave one by one, with large gaps between their departure — as opposed to a convoy of trucks. This was vital. An American satellite passed over Angora regularly, photographing the whole area. The sight of a lone truck driving out into the desert would mean nothing to the American analysts of the pictures taken.

  The trucks transporting the missiles from the port had been sprayed with a sticky substance, then sprayed again with sand. Seen from the air they would merge with the desert.

  Abdul emerged from the chart room, was annoyed to see drivers onshore lazily clambering up into the cabs. He wanted to be well away from the coast before the storm broke. He shouted, using the foulest language.

  'Tell the truck drivers to move faster. They must dump the vehicles into the sea a short distance along the road. Then they must run back here and immediately board the ship. If they delay departure I will have their heads.'

  Marler was still checking through his telescopic sight. He had already inserted the explosive bullet. Now he was certain. An Arab on the deck was again carrying an obviously heavy container painted yellow. He would move it a few yards, then pause for breath. Marler checked once more. No doubt about it.

  Painted in large warning letters in English was one word running round the surface of the whole container: inflammable. The Arab, taking a rest from his labours, had planted the container down close to the crate which had burst open, spilling missiles across the deck. Armed missiles, as must be those in many other crates on deck.

  Other Arabs were slowly carrying a crate to a platform, which was obviously a lift descending into the hold. Presumably the hold was already crammed with similar crates.

  'I think the truck drivers are about to move their vehicles. Doubtless to dump them into the sea a bit further up the coast road,' Tweed said bleakly.

  'Do you want everything down there eliminated?' Marler asked Tweed. 'By which I mean missiles, the trucks, the freighter and all those Arabs?'

  'Wipe the lot off the face of the earth,' Tweed said, his voice very cold.

  Leaning against the side of the rock to give him perfect balance, Marler aimed his rifle. He had the cross-hairs fixed on the container when the Arab who had carried it bent down to lift it again. Marler, steady as the rock he was supported by, pressed the trigger. The team were gathered behind him, staring down.

  The container exploded, blew up in a burst of spreading flame, reaching the exposed missiles. The Arab vanished in the huge flames that enveloped everything within reach. They had heard a muffled detonation. The spilt missiles exploded with a thunderous roar, detonating another dozen crates packed with missiles.

  The world went mad. The massive Shockwave blasted out with titanic force against the cliff. Perched by Harmer's bulk, they felt the ground tremble beneath their feet. Tweed began to hope they were far enough away.

  Toppling Rock broke free from its pedestal, rolled down at ever-increasing speed. Arriving at a ridge, it bounced off into midair, fell vertically, landed with its great weight on the foredeck of the freighter. It crashed through the deck, vanished at the same moment the prow of the Constantine split off and dived down into the deep water out of sight. Already the large number of crates stacked with missiles below deck were exploding, lifting what remained of the deck skywards.

  Another far more deafening roar, which seemed like the end of the world, blasted against the cliff below them. Immense slabs of rock plunged down, smothering what remained of the trucks on the coast road. The clouds in the night sky were illuminated in a monster red glow, which reminded Tweed of what he had read in Dante's Inferno. The middle and stern of the freighter heeled over towards starboard, exposing the lower part of the hull, now only a huge hole through which sea water was flooding.

  The landing stage, which had linked it to the shore, curiously enough, appeared to have survived as it rocketed skyward, then broke into pieces and dived under the boiling sea. Outsized waves rolled in, over the sinking freighter, crashing on to the coast road littered with rock and remnants of the trucks. Receding, the waves carried back into the sea every trace of trucks and pieces of mangled bodies. Seconds earlier the single funnel had torn itself free, elevating like a rocket, flying out over the sea before it plunged down and disappeared. Every sign of the freighter had now gone, the wreckage sinking into its watery grave. Another huge slab of cliff below them had broken loose, slamming down on to the coast road, where it burst and all the pieces bounced off the edge, ending up out of sight in the water.

  There was no sign of life, of survivors anywhere. Marler's single bullet, shrewdly aimed at the target he knew would act as a horrific detonator, had destroyed everything, everyone.

  'Wipe the lot off the face of the earth,' Tweed had ordered. But he had never dreamed that his command would be carried out with such devastating completion.

  31

  Tweed ordered everyone to return to their Land Rovers but not to drive off until he did so himself. He had studied their expressions, had not been surprised to see several showing a state of shock. Few people had ever seen such total and terrible destruction.

  Harry, the tough Cockney, seemed least affected. Without a word he returned from his vehicle to Tweed's. He was carryin
g the large insulated container, which he put down on the scrubby grass.

  'Time for a spot of nourishment and coffee,' he said like a delivery boy.

  'Thank you, Harry,' Paula said hoarsely. 'You're an angel.'

  'There's some people who'd dispute your opinion,' he told her with a grin.

  Paula opened the container, poured coffee from a flask, surprised to find it was still piping hot. Handing a cup to Tweed, she gratefully sipped from her own. Then she divided up the sandwiches, putting them on plates, handing Tweed a napkin.

  'Seems a bit silly,' she began, 'bothering with napkins after what—'

  'We don't want crumbs all over the floor.' he interjected in a normal voice.

  'Won't the local police start making enquiries when they see the coast road? I used my binoculars briefly before we left Harmer's Head. It's pitted with holes and chunks of it are in the sea.'