by Jack Higgins
'Like a charm,' Hannah told him, and took a cigarette.
Alberto actually offered me one. I took it mechanically. 'You know?'
'I was in a difficult situation, Senhor Mallory. I needed both of you to do the thing successfully and it did not seem likely, in view of the sentiments you expressed at our last meeting, that you would give your services willingly.'
'You've made me an accessory to murder.'
He shook his head and answered gravely, 'A military operation from start to finish and fully authorised by my superiors.'
'You lied to me,' I said. 'About wanting to talk with the Huna.'
'Not at all. Only now, having shown that we mean business, that we can hit them hard when we want to, I can talk from a position of strength. You and Captain Hannah may very well prove to have been instrumental in bringing an end to this whole sorry business.'
'By butchering poor, bloody savages with high explosives dropped from the air.'
They stood around me in a semi-circle, the soldiers, few of them understanding for we spoke in English.
Hannah was quieter now, his face white and strained. 'For God's sake, Mallory, what about the nuns? Look what they did to Father Conte. They ate his heart, Mallory. They cut out his heart and ate it.'
My voice seemed to come from outside me and I was someone else inside my head, listening to me talking. I said patiently, genuinely wanting him to understand, or so it seemed to me, 'And what good does it do to act just as barbarically in return?'
It was Alberto who answered. 'You have a strange morality, Senhor Mallory. For the Huna to rape and butcher the nuns, to roast men over a fire is acceptable. For my men to die in ambush out there in the forest is all part of some game for which you apparently can accept rules.'
'Now you're twisting it. Making it something else.'
'I don't think so. You would allow us to shoot them in a skirmish in the bush, but to kill them with dynamite from the air is different....'
I couldn't think of anything to say for by then, reaction had set in and I was hopelessly confused.
'A bullet in the belly, an arrow in the back, a stick of dynamite from the air.' He shook his head. 'There are no rules, Senhor Mallory. This is a dirty business. War has always been thus and this is war, believe me...'
I turned and walked away from them towards the Bristol. When I reached it, I leaned on the lower port wing for a while, then I took my flying helmet and goggles from one pocket of my leather jacket and put them on.
When I turned, I found Hannah standing watching me. I said, 'I'm getting out as soon as I get back. You can find someone else.'
He said tonelessly, 'We've got a contract, kid, with your signature on the bottom under mine and legally enforceable.'
I didn't say anything, simply climbed in and went through the fifteen checks, then I wound the starting magneto. Hannah pulled the propeller over, the engine clattered into life and I started to move forward so quickly that he had to duck under the lower port wing.
His face was very white, I remember that and his mouth opening and closing as he shouted to me, but his words were drowned by the roar of the Falcon engine and I didn't wait to hear, didn't care if I never clapped eyes on him again.
*
I was not really aware of having been asleep, only of being shaken roughly awake. I lay there staring up through the mosquito net at the pressure lamp on its hook in the ceiling, moths clustering thickly around it. The hand shook me again, I turned and found Mannie at my side.
'What time is it?' I asked him.
'Just after midnight.' He was wearing his yellow oilskin coat and sou'wester and they ran with moisture. 'You'll have to help me with Sam, Neil.'
It took a moment for it to sink in. I said, 'You've got to be joking,' and turned over.
He had me half-up by the front of the cotton shirt I was wearing with a grip of surprising strength. 'When I left he was just finishing his second bottle of brandy and calling for number three. He'll kill himself unless we help him.'
'And you really expect me to give a damn after what he did to me today?'
'Now that's interesting. You said what he did to you, not what he did to those poor bloody savages out there in the bush. Which is most important?'
It almost made my hair stand up on my head in horror at what he was suggesting. I said, 'For God's sake, Mannie.'
'All right, you want him to die, then?'
I got out of bed and started to dress. I'd gone through the whole sorry story with Mannie as soon as I'd got back. Had to get it off my chest before I went mad. What I was looking for, I think, was the reassurance which would come from finding someone else who was just as horrified as I was myself.
His attitude hadn't been entirely satisfactory and he'd seemed to see rather more in Colonel Alberto's argument than I was prepared to accept myself. The strange thing was that he seemed worried about Hannah who had avoided me completely since he'd flown in.
I'd washed my hands of both of them, had helped myself to far more of Hannah's Scotch than was good for me and my head ached from it all as I went up the main street through the rain at Mannie's side.
I could hear music from the hotel as we approached and light filtered out through the shutters in golden bars. There was the sound of a glass breaking and someone called out.
We paused on the veranda and I said, 'If he decides to go berserk, he could probably break the two of us in his bare hands. I hope you realise that.'
'You're the devil himself for looking on the black side of things.' He smiled and put a hand on my arm for a moment. 'Now let's have him out of here while there's still hope.'
There were two or three people at the far end of the room, Figueiredo behind the bar and Hannah propped up against it in front of him. An old phonograph was playing Valse Triste, Figueiredo's wife standing beside it.
'More, more!' Hannah shouted, pounding on the bar with the flat of his hand as the music started to run down.
She wound the handle vigorously and Hannah reached for the half-empty bottle of brandy and tried to fill the tumbler at his elbow, sending a couple of dirty glasses crashing to the floor at the same moment.
He failed to notice our approach until Mannie reached over and firmly took the bottle from his hand. 'Enough is enough, Sam. Now I think we go home.'
'Good old Mannie.' Hannah patted him on the cheek then turned to empty his glass and saw me. God, he was drunk, his face swollen with the stuff, the hands shaking and the look in his eyes...
He took me by the front of the coat and said wildly, 'You think I wanted to do that back there? You think it was easy?'
The man was in hell or so it seemed to me then. Certainly enough to make me feel sorry for him. I pulled free and said gently, 'Let's get you to bed then, Sam.'
Behind me the door opened, there was a burst of careless laughter, then silence. Hannah's eyes widened and hot rage flared. He brushed me aside and plunged forward and I turned in time to see him give Avila his fist full in the mouth.
'I'll teach you, you bastard,' he yelled and pushed Avila back across a table with one hand while he pounded away at him with the other.
Avila's friends were already running into darkness which left Mannie and me. God knows, it took everything we had for I think it was himself Hannah was trying to beat to death there across the table and his strength was incredible.
As we got him out through the door, he turned and grabbed at me again. 'You won't leave me, kid, will you? We've got a contract. You gave me your word. It means everything - everything I've got in the world.'
I didn't need the look on Mannie's face, but it helped. I said soothingly, 'How can I leave, Sam? I've got the mail run to Manaus at nine a.m.'
He broke down completely at that, great sobs racking his body as we took him down the steps between us into the rain and started home.
SEVEN
Sister of Pity
I didn't see anything of Hannah on the following morning. When I took off
for Manaus at nine, he was still dead to the world and Mondays were usually busy so I didn't have time to hang around.
There was not only the mail but a parcel of diamonds from Figueiredo in the usual sealed canvas bag to be handed over to the government agent in Manaus. After that, I had two contract runs down-river for mining companies delivering mail and various bits and pieces.
It added up to a pretty full day and I arrived back at Manaus in the early evening with the intention of spending the night at the Palace and the prospect of a hot bath, a change of clothes, a decent meal, perhaps even a visit to The Little Boat, was more than attractive.
There wasn't much activity at the airstrip when I landed although on some days, you could find two or three planes parked by the hangars, in from down-river or the coast. There were still a couple of mechanics on duty and they helped me get the Bristol under cover for the night, then one of them gave me a lift into town in the company truck, an ancient Crossley tender.
When I entered the hotel, there was no sign of Juca behind the desk. In fact there was no one around at all so I went through the door on the left into the bar.
There seemed to be no one there either except for a rather romantic, or disreputable-looking figure, depending on your point of view, who stared at me from the full-length mirror at the other end.
I was badly in need of a shave and wore lace-up knee-length boots, whipcord breeches and leather flying jacket open to reveal the .45 automatic in its shoulder holster which Hannah had insisted on giving me in place of the Webley, his theory being that there was no point in carrying a gun that wouldn't either stop a man dead in his tracks or knock him down.
I dropped my canvas grip to the floor, went behind the bar and helped myself to a bottle of cold beer from the ice-box. As I started to pour it into a glass, there was a slight, polite cough.
The woman who had come in through the open french windows from the terrace was a nun in tropical white, a small woman, not much over five feet in height with clear, untroubled eyes, not a wrinkle to be seen on that calm face in spite of her age which must have been fifty at least.
She spoke with the kind of accent that is associated with the New England States which made sense, for as I discovered later, she had been born and raised in the town of Vineyard Haven, Massachusetts, on the island of Martha's Vineyard.
'Mr Mallory?' she said.
'That's me.'
'We've been waiting for you. The comandante said you were expected back this evening. I am Sister Maria Teresa of the Little Sisters of Pity.'
She had said 'We'. I looked for another nun, but instead a young woman sauntered in from the terrace, a creature from another world than this, cool, elegant in a white chiffon frock, wide-brimmed straw hat, a blue silk scarf tied around it, the ends fluttering in the slight breeze. She carried an open parasol over one shoulder and stood, a hand on her hip, legs slightly apart, casually insolent as if challenging the world at large.
And there was one other peculiarity that made her herself alone - a silver bracelet about the right ankle, studded with tiny bells that jingled rather eerily as she walked, a sound that has haunted me for years. I couldn't see much of her face for with the evening sunlight behind her, the rest was in shadow.
Sister Maria Teresa said, 'This is Miss Joanna Martin. Her sister served with our mission at Santa Helena.'
I knew then, I suppose, what it was all about, but played dumb. 'What can I do for you ladies?'
'We want to go up-river as soon as possible.'
'To Landro?'
'To start with, then Santa Helena.'
The simple directness of that remark was enough to take the breath away. I said, 'You've got to be joking.'
'Oh no, I assure you, Mr Mallory. I have complete authority from my Order to proceed to Santa Helena to assess the situation and to report on the feasibility of our carrying on there.'
'Carrying on?' I said stupidly.
She didn't appear to have heard me. 'And then there is the unfortunate business of Sister Anne Josepha and Sister Bernadette whose bodies were never recovered. I understand that in all probability they were taken alive by the Huna.'
'That would depend on your definition of living,' I said.
'You don't think it's possible?' It was the Martin girl who had spoken, the voice as cool and well-bred as you would have expected from the appearance, no strain there at all.
'Oh, it's possible.' I swallowed the impulse to give them the gory details on the kind of life captive women in such a situation could expect and contented myself by adding, 'Indians are very much like children and subject to sudden whims. One minute it seems like a good idea to carry off a couple of white women, the next, equally reasonable to beat them to death with an ironwood club.'
Sister Maria Teresa closed her eyes momentarily and Joanna Martin said in the same cool voice, 'But you can't be certain of that?'
'Any more than you can be that they're alive.'
'Sister Anne Josepha was Miss Martin's younger sister,' Maria Teresa said simply.
I'd suspected something like that, but it didn't make it any easier. I said, 'I'm sorry, but I know as much about Indians as most people and more than some. You asked me for my opinion and that's what I've given you.'
'Will you take us up to Landro with you in the morning?' Sister Maria Teresa said. 'I understand from the comandante that we could fly from there to Santa Helena in under an hour.'
'Have you any idea what it's like up there?' I demanded. 'About as bad as any place on this earth could possibly be.'
'God will provide,' she said simply.
'He must have been taking a day off when the Huna took out Father Conte and the rest of them at Santa Helena,' I said brutally.
There was the briefest flash of pain on that calm face and then she smiled beautifully and with all the understanding in the world. 'The comandante told me you were one of those who found them. It must have been terrible for you.'
I said slowly, 'Look, Sister, the whole area comes under military jurisdiction.'
Joanna Martin came forward to join her, opened the embroidered handbag which hung from her wrist and took out a folded document which she tossed on the bar.
'Our authorisation to travel, counter-signed by the president himself.' Enough to bring Alberto's heels together sharply, so much was certain and enough for me.
'All right, have it your own way. If you want to know what it's like to fly two hundred miles over some of the worst jungle in South America in the oldest plane in the territory, be at the airstrip at eight-thirty. As it happens, the rear cockpit's been enlarged to carry cargo, but there's only one seat. One of you will have to sit on the floor.'
I swallowed the rest of my beer and moved round the bar. 'And now you'll really have to excuse me. It's been a long day.'
Sister Maria Teresa nodded. 'Of course.'
Joanna Martin said nothing, simply picked up my grip and handed it to me, a gesture totally unexpected and quite out of character. My fingers touched hers as I took it and there was the perfume. God knows what it was but the effect was electrifying. I had never experienced such direct and immediate excitement from any woman and my stomach went hollow.
And she knew, damn her, I was certain of that, her mouth lifting slightly to one side as if in amusement at men and their perpetual hunger. I turned from that scorn and went out quickly.
*
There was still no sign of Juca but when I went up to my usual room, I found him turning down the sheets.
'Your bath is ready, Senhor Mallory,' he told me in that strange, melancholy whisper of his. 'You wish to eat here afterwards?'
I shook my head. 'I think I'll go out. If anyone wants me I'll be at The Little Boat.'
'The senhor has seen the ladies who were waiting for him downstairs?'
'Yes. Are they staying here?'
He nodded and withdrew and I stripped, pulled on an old robe and went along the corridor to the bathroom. The water was hot enough to br
ing sweat to my face and I lay there for half an hour, soaking away the fatigue of the day and thinking about the two women in the bar. Sister Maria Teresa was familiar enough. One of those odd people who live by faith alone and who seem to be able to survive most things, protected by the armour of their own innocence.
Joanna Martin's presence was more difficult to explain. God knows who had advised her to come. Certainly they must have an awful lot of pull between them to get hold of that authorisation with the president's signature on it. Colonel Alberto was not going to be pleased about that.
I went back to my room, towelling my head, briskly and started to dress. I'd actually got my trousers on and was pulling a clean linen shirt over my head when a slight noise made me turn quickly, one hand sliding towards the butt of the .45 automatic which lay on the dressing-table in its shoulder harness.
Joanna Martin moved in from the balcony, closing her parasol. 'Don't shoot,' she said coolly. 'I'm all I've got.'
I stood looking at her, without saying anything, noticing the face for the first time. Not really beautiful, yet different enough to make her noticeable in any crowd. Auburn hair, obviously regularly attended to by a top hairdresser. Good bones, an upturned nose that made her look younger than she was, hazel eyes spaced widely apart, curious golden flecks glinting in them.
I wondered how she'd look after a week up-river. I also wondered how that hair would look spread across a pillow. The physical ache was there again and disturbing in its intensity.
'The door was unlocked,' she explained. 'And the old man said you were in the bath. I thought I'd wait.'
I tucked in my shirt and reached for my shoulder harness. For some reason I found difficulty in speaking. That damned perfume, I suppose, the actual physical presence of her.
'Do you really need that thing?' she asked.
'It's a rough town after dark,' I said. 'Now what can I do for you?'
'Tell me the truth for a start.'
She moved back to the balcony. Outside the sky was orange and black, the sun a ball of fire. Standing there, against the light her legs were clearly outlined through the flimsy dress.
