by Jack Higgins
"And what happens there?"
"We head out to sea, back where we came from, and you can do what you damn well please."
"With a bullet in the head?"
"No percentage in it. What would be the point?"
"It sounds plausible enough when you put it like that." He reached for his shirt. "What happens if I refuse?"
Nino took an ivory Madonna from his pocket. When he pressed the feet, a wicked-looking stiletto jumped into view. "Ingenious," Masmoudi said. "But then the Italians have always been culturally inclined, even in matters of violence."
"First the right ear, then the left," Nino said. "Do we understand each other?"
"Perfectly."
Masmoudi reached for the telephone and Langley said, "I should point out that I speak rather good Arabic, so behave yourself."
"I always do, my friend, especially in situations like this, I assure you."
He spoke briefly into the telephone in Arabic and replaced the receiver. Langley said, "He spoke to the guardroom. Told them to get a Sergeant Husseini to collect convict eight-thirty-three from the special block and bring him here."
I said, "This special block. Is that as bad as it sounds?"
"Your friend Wyatt has been a little difficult," Masmoudi said. "You know how it is with these young men these days. Nothing but long hair and rebellion."
"Funny talk coming from a Marxist."
"Ah, but then we have the only true answer," he said. "Everything else has been tried."
It was a superbly arrogant remark and delivered with a smile of considerable charm so that I didn't know whether to take him seriously or not.
He patted the divan beside him and said to Simone, "A glass of champagne while we're waiting."
"I'd rather have a brandy." For the first time I noticed that she was trembling slightly.
He stood up, quite unconcerned, went to a cupboard in one corner, produced a cut-glass decanter and a glass, filled it and brought it to her. She took it gratefully and thanked him.
He put a hand on her shoulder, "You are soaked to the skin, little flower. Permit me."
He moved to the closet into which Langley had pushed the whore, opened it, giving us a further brief glimpse of her, took out a military greatcoat with a sheepskin collar and closed the door again on the startled woman.
He held the coat open for Simone, a slight smile on his face, and she stood up, took off her wet burnous, and pulled it on. Again she smiled her gratitude.
"Heh, I like that," Barzini said, and he helped himself to the brandy. "He knows how to treat a lady. He's been well brought up."
I was aware of a vague irrational annoyance. The whole thing was really becoming quite farcical, and then there was the rasp of feet on the terrace outside and a knock on the door.
Everyone scattered, taking up positions quickly and I nodded to Masmoudi. He called out in Arabic. The door opened and a prisoner in striped cotton pajamas and leg irons was propelled into the room with such force that he fell on his knees. The sergeant who moved in behind him was an enormous black-bearded man and I knew this must be Husseini.
Nino kicked the door shut and rammed the muzzle of his AK into Husseini's ribs and I reached over and lifted the service revolver from his holster. Like his master, he showed no great emotion. A dour, implacable man who took in the situation calmly and clasped his hands behind his neck when Langley told him to.
The man in the striped pajamas was in a bad way and had obviously recently had a severe beating. His right cheek was split so that it really required two or three stitches and a nasty green bruise ran up into the eye.
I dropped to one knee beside him. "Stephen Wyatt?"
"That's right." His voice was hoarse and broken and he appeared dazed. More than that, there was genuine fear in his eyes.
"It's all right," I said. "You've nothing to worry about. Not any more. We've come to get you out."
"Out?" he said slowly. "Out of prison, you mean? I don't understand."
It was as if everything about him, each sense, had been dulled at the edges. I said, "You don't need to," and I looked up at Masmoudi. "Let's have these leg irons off."
He gave Husseini a brief order in Arabic and the big sergeant produced a key and leaned down to take off the irons. Wyatt shrank away from him which told its own story. I pulled him to his feet and he stood there, swaying, a look of complete bafflement on his face.
I said to Masmoudi, "Right, we're going to leave now. Tell Husseini to help the boy across the square. We all leave in the one truck. You drive, Aldo. I'll sit up front with you and we'll have the colonel between us. The rest of you in the back." I turned again to Masmoudi. "You're going to take us straight through the front gate. Understand?"
"Perfectly."
He spoke again in Arabic to Husseini who, dour as ever, showed no emotion, but simply got an arm round Wyatt and moved to the door. Nino opened it for them, I stood back and motioned Masmoudi and Simone through and the rest of us followed.
It was still raining as we went down the path. Husseini opened the gate and started through with Wyatt; Masmoudi stood to one side for Simone. "After you, little flower."
She smiled in spite of herself, moving to pass him, and with a courtly smile still on his lips, he pushed her into me with all his force, jumped into the bushes and ran like hell, calling to Husseini at the same time. Wyatt came staggering back through the gate and Husseini took off across the square, zig-zagging furiously to avoid the possibility of a bullet in the back.
Not that there seemed much point. I grabbed Wyatt by one arm, "Right, make for those trucks while there's still time."
I was kidding myself, of course, for as we ran out of the gate and started across the square, four or five soldiers rushed out of the guardroom by the main gate.
There was a certain amount of confusion which was understandable enough when one considers that we must have looked at first sight like a group of their own comrades. And then Husseini dodged out of the shadows, yelling in Arabic and the fat was in the fire.
The nearest one to us loosed off a burst of his assault rifle on full automatic, firing from the hip a yard wide of us to the right, the bullets ricocheting from the cobbles. Hampered by Wyatt, who was leaning heavily on me, there wasn't a great deal I could do in return, but someone fired three or four shots from behind me that lifted the soldier right off his feet, slamming him back against one of the trucks.
His comrades retreated, firing wildly, and Langley and Nino both replied with long bursts that drove them back into the shelter of the parked trucks. Which left us still completely exposed. The sentry above the gate fired twice and far too close for comfort so I drew the Stechkin machine pistol I carried on my right hip from its wooden holster. As I'd set it on full automatic he got about fifteen rounds in reply for one pull of the trigger and fell off the wall into the entrance to the gateway tunnel.
Barzini grabbed Wyatt's other arm and we ran for the train, dragging him between us, Simone at our heels. We dropped him in the shelter of the first boxcar and Langley and Nino joined us, both firing short bursts from the hip to cover our retreat.
I crouched beside the track and peered through one of the wheels. It was a mess, no doubt about that. Soldiers appearing as if by magic from all over the place, some of them only half dressed, but all with rifles in their hands.
Bullets thudded into the boxcar and ricocheted from the wheels. Langley appeared beside me, grinning like a fiend. "Not so good, old stick. The best laid schemes, eh?"
A bullet clipped the woodwork just above his head, a splinter slicing his cheek like a razor. He put his fingers to it and looked at the blood and stopped smiling just like that.
"Bastards!" he said. "Bloody wog bastards! I'll give them something to think about."
He pulled one of the Sturma stick grenades from his belt, yanked the pin and lobbed it over the top of the boxcar towards the gate area. It landed on one of the trucks and fell between two of them. Someone cri
ed out in alarm and several soldiers ran into the open. Langley jumped out of cover himself, laughing insanely and cut three of them down, firing from the hip.
A second later the grenade exploded, blowing one truck onto its side and then, like an instantaneous echo, its petrol tank went up, scattering chunks of metal, wood and burning debris far across the courtyard.
It was a scene from hell, flames everywhere, soldiers searching helplessly for cover, Langley and Nino firing steadily. A half naked woman staggered across the courtyard, screaming, and fell over a body. Husseini ran out of the shelter of the gateway to get her, firing a submachine gun with one hand. I could have shot him, but held my fire. He was a brave man, whatever else he was.
A bullet tugged at my left shoulder and then a whole stream ripped into the boxcar above our heads. When I turned, Masmoudi was in the gateway of the house firing an AK at us and two men beside him were setting up a light machine gun on its tripod.
Barzini pulled at my sleeve. "We stay here, we're finished. Better inside."
We got Wyatt on his feet again, dazed and uncomprehending, and ran alongside the train into the engine shed. Simone and Nino were right behind us, but Langley was taking his own sweet time, firing madly. It was only when the light machine gun opened up that he turned and ran for it.
I eased Wyatt down against the wall beside the locomotive. It was warm up there. There was a smell of hot iron and steam. I turned to Simone. "Are you all right?"
She nodded. "What are we going to do, Oliver?"
"God knows." I looked around me. The shed was partially illuminated by the flickering light from the burning tracks. "This certainly looks like a dead enough end."
Langley was crouched at the entrance, peering outside. For a moment there seemed a lull in the firing. I said, "What's going on out there?"
"I think he's grouping his forces, old stick. Better get ready for some sort of frontal assault."
Nino called, "Look what I found. A machine gun."
It was mounted on the roof of the boxcar immediately behind the engine tender. Like the rest of their hardware it was Russian, an RPD using hundred-round dram magazines. There were about eight of those in the ammunition box beside it. Which was something because the way things were shaping up we'd need all the help we could get.
I jumped down and joined Langley at the entrance. Over by the tracks a line of men were trying to do something about the fire, passing buckets of water from hand to hand. Masmoudi had thirty or forty men beside the villa wall and he and Husseini had their heads together.
"What do you think?" Langley said.
I didn't get a chance to reply because there was a sudden sharp cry behind me and Barzini called, "Heh, Oliver, look at this."
He had climbed up into the cab of the locomotive and now appeared holding a tiny wizened little Arab in greasy khaki turban and bush shirt.
"He was hiding up here."
The little Arab said, "No, effendi, please. I meant no harm. I am the engine driver. Talif."
"You speak good English," I said.
"Damn good English, effendi. I work for British army during the war. I served with General Montgomery."
Somehow he made it sound personal. I said, "What were you doing up there?"
"Sleeping, effendi. It's warm next to the fire box and then the shooting started ... I was afraid."
I said, "There's a fire going in this thing?"
"But of course, effendi. We leave at seven in the morning on the Tripoli run and without steam ..."
Langley, who had been listening from the entrance, said, "Do you mean you've got a head of steam on?" He kicked a wheel. "Will she go?"
"You mean now, effendi?" Talif shrugged. "Not at full power, you understand. For that the fire would need stoking."
"How fast?" I demanded impatiently.
"Fifteen, maybe twenty miles an hour."
Barzini said, "You think this could be our way out, Oliver?"
"It's got to be. The only question is can the damn thing move fast enough to take that gate with it."
"There's only one way to find out." He turned to Nino. "Heh, boy, you get in that cab and start shoveling coal. I want to hear that fire roar."
Nino did as he was told and Talif said timidly, plucking at my sleeve, "You are taking the train, effendi?"
"No, you are," I said. "We're just coming along for the ride."
"Please--effendi." He looked scared to death. "On my mother's grave, I beg you. Colonel Masmoudi will hang me up by my ears if I should do such a thing."
"And if you don't," Barzini told him, cheerfully, "I'll hang you up by something else. Now climb in that cab and get things started."
Talif turned away, shoulders hunched and scrambled up onto the footplate. I reached down and pulled Wyatt to his feet. He swayed, leaning against me, looking really ill.
"When do I wake up?" he said wearily. "Or don't you ever feel like that?"
"Only on Monday through Friday," I said and heaved back the sliding door of the boxcar with the machine gun on the top. "Just get in there and keep your head down." I gave him a push up and said to Simone, "You stay with him. All right?"
"He's in a bad way," she said.
"Aren't we all?"
"Now there speaks the hard-nosed bastard I've come to know and love," she said, and climbed up into the boxcar.
Langley was back at the entrance and now he called, "Better come quick, old stick. This looks interesting."
Masmoudi was half-way across the square waving a white handkerchief. Barzini said, "What do you think, Oliver?"
"I think you make ready to get out of here while I talk with our friend," I said and I shouldered my assault rifle and stepped into the open.
I went only a few yards in his direction then paused to light a cigarette, making him come the rest of the way. He smiled. "I like that. Nice and casual. Not a care in the world. Good psychology."
"You seem to know your business yourself," I said, more to keep the conversation going than anything else.
"I went to Sandhurst," he said simply.
Which was enough to take the wind out of anyone's sails. We stood facing each other against the backdrop of burning trucks looking, I suspect, faintly ridiculous. The assault group, under Husseini, crouched in the shelter of the wall. It had stopped raining and the sky was clearing fast.
I said, "What do you want?"
"I should have thought that was obvious. You are finished, you and your friends. You have failed. Why waste more lives? Better to give up now."
"And end like Wyatt? No, thanks."
"You are being very foolish," he said. "You cannot hope to last for long if I mount a general assault. At least let the girl leave."
"All right," I said. "I'll see what she says. Wait here."
I went back inside the engine shed. Nino was shoveling away for dear life and the smell of steam was heavy and pungent on the night air.
"What does he want?" Barzini demanded.
"Total surrender. Are we ready to go?"
He turned to Talif. "Well?"
Talif shrugged fatalistically. "As Allah wills, effendi. If you wish it, we go now, but as I warned you, we will be short of full power."
"Right, make ready and when I say go, you'd better get us out of here just as fast as you can because if we don't break that gate down at the first try, you're going to be just as much in trouble as the rest of us." I turned to the others. "I want one of you on top with that machine gun and really pour it on as we go across the square. Keep their heads down because that's going to be the crucial bit."
"Leave it to me, old stick." Langley climbed the ladder to the roof of the boxcar.
I nodded to Barzini who scrambled up onto the footplate. "All right, Aldo. When I say go, go."
I went out into the courtyard again where Masmoudi waited patiently. I said, "Sorry, she says she liked the champagne, but not the company."
"What a pity. On her own head be it then."
He
turned and started to walk away and I hurried back inside the engine shed. "Okay, let's go, let's go!" I cried and I scrambled up into the boxcar beside Simone and Wyatt.
There was a hissing of steam, it billowed around the wheels as they started to turn, the clanging echoing between the brick walls. There was another great rush of steam, the wheels spun and then, quite suddenly, we coasted out into the open.
Masmoudi was only half way back to his men. He turned with a startled cry and raised an arm, calling on them, I suppose, to fire. He was in the way, which didn't help, but by then Langley was firing the machine gun, working it from side to side, knocking down several of the assault group and throwing the rest into complete confusion.
We were moving faster now, gliding across the square at perhaps ten miles an hour. Bullets started to fly when we were halfway across. I fired back from the entrance to the boxcar and behind me, Barzini and Nino were shooting from the footplate.
And then the first cars were inside the tunnel and I shouted to Simone. "Hang on tight, this could be rough."
There was a great splintering crash, the boxcar rocked from side to side. For the briefest of moments we seemed to stand still and then nudged inexorably onwards, the great double gates falling to each side, torn from their hinges.
We moved on, wheels rattling over the points to a chorus of angry shouts and a great deal of shooting, none of which did any good at all, for a moment later we really started to pick up speed and were away.
12
Night Run
The sky had cleared considerably by now and the moon was very bright, stars strung away to the horizon. Barzini leaned out of the cab and called, "Heh, we showed them, didn't we, Oliver?"
"I'm coming over." I turned to Simone. "How are you doing?"
"Fine. I'm not too sure about Wyatt. He seems very weak to me. They must have given him a terrible time in there."
He lay back, his head on her lap, eyes closed. I said, "All right, do what you can. I'll be back."
I left the assault rifle beside her and worked my way along the side of the boxcar, hanging on to the bars until I reached the tender. From there it was an easy matter to make it to the footplate.
